


Poor Sammy

by ZoyciteM



Series: The Poor Sammy Series [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Barebacking, Bloodplay, Bottom Sam Winchester, Branding, Breathplay, Broken Sam, Broken Sam Winchester, Caning, Castiel Whump, Dark fic, Drowning, Enemas, Eventual Happy Ending, Face-Fucking, First Time, Forced Orgasm, Gun Kink, Gun Violence, HEA, Happily Ever After, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Sam Winchester, Knifeplay, M/M, Manhandling, Minor Character Death, Neato Demon Powers, Non-Consensual Bondage, Painplay, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sadism, Sam Whump, Sam Winchester Whump, Situational Humiliation, Starvation, Top Dean Winchester, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester, Torture, Verbal Humiliation, Very Dark Fic, Very Very Dark Fic, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-05 15:10:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 50,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5379806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoyciteM/pseuds/ZoyciteM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Demon!Dean managed to escape, while Sam was trying to cure him with consecrated blood.  He takes both Sam and Castiel prisoner, and surrenders to his dark needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, be gentle. This is the first thing I've written in 30 years. Sorry, it's turning out a little longer than I thought it would.
> 
> Any sort of feedback would be greatly appreciated.

Sam woke suddenly, disoriented, and opened his eyes. Black, pitch black. His head throbbed, and he groaned softly. What had happened? He remembered treating Dean with the sanctified blood, the cat-and-mouse game throughout the bunker, and then... nothing?

He raised his hand to the side of his head. He felt sticky wetness clinging to his fingers. It had to be blood. Clearly, Dean had gotten the jump on him and incapacitated him somehow.

Mentally surveying himself for other injuries, he realized that he was, in fact, naked. He was lying on his side, on some sort of smooth but faintly gritty floor. He ran his fingers across the surface – some sort of glossy enamel, overlaid with dust. 

He was baffled. He was pretty sure he was still in the bunker, but he couldn't recall any sort of room like the one he was in. And more baffling – why was he naked in it?

Suddenly the room was flooded with brilliant white light. Sam threw his arm across his face, shielding his eyes. He blinked rapidly under the shelter of his arm, letting his eyes slowly adjust.

He was in a square white room, roughly fifteen feet across. It was completely empty, save for himself and a metal bucket in the corner. There was a simple faucet in the wall, above the bucket. Every surface – the ceiling, walls, and floor were indeed covered with some sort of hard, glossy enamel. The floor was almost imperceptibly sloped in towards the middle of the room, where there was a small drain capped with a bright metal grid.

There were two doors in the middle of adjacent walls. He wasn't sure what might be behind them.

Suddenly the door on the right opened, and Dean walked in.

“Rise and shine, Sammy!” 

Sam peered up at him through bleary eyes.

“Dean... Dean, what's going on? What... where am I?” Sam pushed himself up to sitting, leaning against one arm, the other pressed to the bloodied side of his head.

“Home sweet home, Sammy.” Dean's smile down at his little brother was hard, edged like a blade. He crouched down beside Sam, leaning back on his haunches, and looked critically at him. “Sorry about your head. I'll have Cas come in later and fix it up for you, okay?”

Sam frowned. It must've been the blow to the head, because he was deeply confused. “I don't understand what's going on. Where are my clothes, and what's this room?”

“Like I said, home sweet home. I found it, exploring the bunker. You'll be seeing a lot of it. And as for clothes, I don't think you'll be needing them.” Dean stood again, brushing his hands on the front of his dark jeans. He was still wearing the burgundy button-down and black T-shirt that he had been wearing while Sam had been attempting to cure him.

Something was deeply, deeply wrong here. Sam tried to gather his scattered thoughts. He pushed himself to his knees, slowly, and with the support of the wall, managed to stand. His legs were wobbly, and he leaned against the wall for support, one hand coming to cover himself, uncomfortable with the nudity in front of his brother. Dean watched him impassively.

“I... I don't know what's going on, but this isn't funny, Dean. I'm going to my room, and I'm gonna get dressed, and then... then we can continue with trying to get you better, okay?” He moved slowly towards the door that Dean had come through.

Dean was on him in a split second, spinning him and slamming him face-first against the wall, wrenching his left arm up behind his back, one hand against the back of Sam's neck. Sam's cheek pressed against the cool enamel.

Dean hissed into Sam's ear. “I just told you. Twice. This is home. Were you not listening?” The hand on Sam's neck moved to sink itself into his hair, clenching hard. Dean moved Sam's head away from the wall a little, only to viciously slam the side of his head against it – the side of his head that was already injured. 

Stars burst behind Sam's eyes, and he felt his hold on consciousness slip a little. He probably would have fallen, if it weren't for Dean's hold on his arm and Dean pressing up behind him.

Suddenly, Dean let him go and moved away. Sam slid slowly to the floor, dazed, in a jumble of limbs.

“Look, look what you've done. You've gotten blood on the wall. Rule number one, Sammy, you keep your home clean.” Dean moved to the corner of the room, and fetched the metal bucket. He placed it on the floor in front of where Sam had collapsed.

Sam gave his head a little shake, trying to clear his vision. He looked down into the bucket, saw clear water, a coarse-looking scrub brush, and a sponge.

“De... Dean...” Sam frowned. None of this made any sense.

“Get. The blood. Off. The wall.” Dean smiled that brittle, edged smile again, looking down at Sam on the floor.

Sam twisted his head to look up at the wall. Sure enough, there was a smear of his blood on it. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to think.

Dean sighed softly, impatiently. “Sammy, ya gotta listen. If I tell you to do something, you do it, okay?” He crouched down in front of Sam again. His fingers came up to brush Sam's cheek lightly. “I don't wanna hurt you, man. Don't make me hurt you.”

Sam recoiled slightly from the gentle touch. “No one's... making you do anything, Dean. Just... just let me up, let me out, and we can talk about this...” Sam looked up at Dean, the “please” unspoken but clear in his eyes.

Dean stood. His lip twisted, his face hardened, and his eyes flickered to solid black.

“I don't think I want to hear you speak any more, Sammy.” Sam gasped as he felt a tight pressure at his throat, choking him. Yet Dean hadn't touched him, he was several feet away. Sam's hand flew to his throat, but felt nothing but his own skin. After a few long moments, the pressure seemed to ease, and he pulled in a shaky breath.

Sam lowered his hand, frowned up at Dean, and tried to speak – but nothing came out. He tried again – to force the words out, but nothing came from his mouth but a small puff of air. He stared up at Dean, eyes wide, horrified.

“You can have your voice back when you've earned it. You're gonna learn, Sammy. You'll learn that a lot of the shit that you take for granted are privileges. The more rules you follow, the better you are. The better you are, the more privileges you earn.” Dean shrugged. “Easy, right? Nothing too complicated. Cause and effect, man.”

Dean idly scratched the back of his head, his eyes still midnight black. He crooked his head slightly to the side and peered down at Sam, who had lowered his gaze and was still staring, wide-eyed, at the floor. “Rules, Sammy. You remember what rule number one was?”

Sam's mind whirled. This must be some sort of demonic power, granted by Dean's Knight of Hell status and the Mark. He tried to whisper, but still, nothing came out. Sam closed his mouth tightly.

“Rule number one, Sam. Come on.” Sam could hear the chill, the impatience, creeping into his brother's voice.

Rule... rule number one... Sam closed his eyes tightly. There was absolutely no way this was happening. He opened them again, and his eyes fell on the silver bucket, the water, the brush, the sponge.

_Keep your home clean._

Sam glanced across at Dean's legs, a few feet away. He might've been able to take him down from here, but he was still weak, disoriented from the blows to the head. He wasn't sure provoking Dean was the right call at this point in time.

Sam reached slowly towards the bucket.

“Wahey, look at that, he learns!” Dean laughed softly.

Sam's fingers breached the surface of the water. It was cold. The floor was cold. The air was cold. Everything here was cold. Sam's heart was cold as he reached for the sponge and wrung most of the water out.

Sam turned towards the wall, his muscles complaining loudly, the sponge clutched in his hand. He pulled himself up to his knees, then to his feet. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and brought the sponge to the tacky, smeared blood on the wall.

Dean watched him, completely silent.

Sam mopped the blood off the wall, glad that there wasn't a lot of it, and cleaned the pink residue with the back side of the sponge. He turned back to Dean, his arms loose at his sides. He pleaded with his eyes, begged Dean not to do this, to let him go.

Dean merely gestured back towards the bucket.

Sam let the bloody sponge fall into it, tinting the water pink.

“Take care of your things, Sammy. You should be grateful for what I give you. You should be grateful I didn't make you clean it up with your tongue.”

Sam's face flushed in humiliation. He lowered himself slowly to his knees and wrung the sponge out in the bucket, squeezing until the blood was gone from it. He shook the water from the brush, got as much water out of the sponge as he could, and tipped the tainted water down the drain in the floor.

“Good boy.”

Dean's booted foot snapped out sharply, and caught Sam hard in the ribs. The air forced out of him, Sam collapsed back against the ground, his ribs on fire, possibly broken. He was in agony, unable even to scream.

“Next time don't keep me waiting so fucking long.”

Dean walked to the door, opened it, and left. Sam heard the lock snick just before the lights went out, plunging him into darkness and silence.

 

*

 

Castiel snarled. “Release me.”

Dean smirked, eyeing the collar, cuffs, and chains carved with Enochian symbols that held Castiel to the wall.

“I am an angel of the Lord. This is blasphemy to bind me in this manner. Release me.”

“'Fraid I can't do that, Cas. See, I need to keep you around.” 

Castiel's face was smeared with blood, a cut over his eyebrow.

“What have you done, Dean? Where is Sam?” Castiel could sense that Sam was nearby, still in the bunker, and the waves of pain and despair the man was emitting were overwhelming.

“Sam's a little... ah... busy at the moment. And he's gonna be staying that way. See, I appreciate what the two of you were trying to do, to “cure” me and all, but you guys just don't get it. When I left, you weren't supposed to come after me. I told Sam, and I told you, not to. So now this is happening.”

Dean ran a finger through the blood on Castiel's cheek, before raising it to his mouth, popping it inside and sucking. He could taste the angel's grace in his vessel's blood. An interesting hint of ozone across his tongue.

“I said to him, 'What I'm gonna do to you, Sammy, ain't gonna be mercy.'” And you, little angel, are here to help me clean up the mess.”

Castiel startled, frowning. “I don't understand, Dean. Sam is your brother. The person you care most about in this world. You... you can't hurt him. You can't do this. He's your brother!”

“Yeah, well, now he's my... toy.” Dean shrugged. “My source of amusement. He's pretty, yeah? You can't tell me you've never noticed. I'd keep him around just for that. But then there's the whole, 'You're my brother, and I'm here to take you home.' scene that he orchestrated.” Dean sneered. “Little bastard just doesn't know when to stay the hell away.”

Castiel glared wordlessly at Dean.

“So...” Dean smiled at Castiel, showing teeth still faintly tainted with blood, “... if you want to help him, you'll shut the fuck up.”

“I want to help you both, Dean.” Castiel spoke through teeth gritted in anger. “I want you to free Sam. I want you to finish the course of consecrated blood. I want your humanity to win out over your demonic nature. I want you to come to your senses, and stop this. Release me!”

“I've got a counter-offer, angel.” Dean leaned in towards Castiel, opened his mouth, and licked up his cheek, gathering the blood on his tongue. Castiel turned his face away, staring at the wall. “How about, I stay the way I am, seeing as it's _awesome_ ,” Dean swallowed and chuckled. “Mmm. Tasty. And you stick around here. In chains. And when I take Sam apart, you put him back together.” Dean produced an angel blade, and pressed it up underneath Castiel's chin, forcing his head back. Castiel snapped his eyes to Dean's. “You do this, and I won't kill you dead. How's that sound to you?”

Castiel glared at the monster that his friend, the Righteous Man, had become.

“I can't guarantee that Sam'll stick around for very long, without you here to heal him, Cas.” Dean scratched at his cheek. “You know, what with me having the Mark and all. You know what it wants.” Dean's smile was evil, his eyes flickering to black. “Blood. Death.” He winked. “Sex. Maybe not in that order.”

Castiel growled, still unable to move his head or open his mouth, owing to the tip of the blade against the underside of his chin.

Dean lowered the blade a little to allow Castiel to talk.

“You... you are the Righteous Man. Do not allow the demonic taint and the Mark to change who you are. You must fight this. I can help you.”

Dean sneered. “Damned stubborn assholes, you and Sammy both. I don't want your help, Cas, I don't need it. But Sammy, on the other hand – yeah, he's gonna be needing it pretty fucking bad. He could probably use it right about now, actually, but I think I'd like him to suffer a bit longer, first.”

Castiel knew that Sam was hurt, confused, betrayed, terrified, where Dean had him captive. He could feel the misery pouring off of him. He knew what he had to do.

“So whatcha gonna do, Cas? Gonna stick around, help out little Sammy when he needs it? Or do I just kill you now, and we'll just have to see how long baby brother lasts without you?”

“No. No, Dean, I won't let you kill your brother.”

“It ain't up to you to decide anything, angel. I call the shots here. You stay here.” Dean glanced around the darkened room, empty save for a table and a chair. A broken devil's trap painted on the floor. “You stay here until I decide Sam needs you. I'll bring you to him, you work your mojo, then you come back here, willingly, and I chain you back up. No flying off, no calling your buddies to help smite me. Deal?” 

Castiel could only hope for a chance to escape, his grace and powers bound by the cursed collar and chains. Sam's suffering beat at the edges of his consciousness. Escape with Sam, regroup, and attempt to cure Dean when possible.

“Yes.”


	2. Chapter Two

Sam wasn't sure how long he was alone. He shivered on the floor, curled up in a ball in the corner, trying to conserve some body heat. At one point he was forced to relieve him self, humiliatingly, into the drain hole in the floor, discovering the metal cover was removable. He drank a little water, scooping it in his hands, but his stomach ached with hunger. He wasn't sure how long it had been since he had eaten.

The darkness seemed to press against his eyeballs. It was absolute; not even the tiniest ray of light entered through the crack beneath the door to the hallway. What lay behind the other door was still unknown.

He pressed gently on his aching ribs. The pain from them was astonishing, and he was nearly certain that a few were broken. He couldn't, however, feel any liquid in his lungs – wasn't coughing up blood – so the immediate threat of a punctured lung seemed to have been avoided. He supposed he had that much to be grateful for. He breathed shallowly, to avoid aggravating the pain.

Sam thought back to what had happened since he awoke in the small room. _His home_ , he thought cynically. Sure, the bunker was home, but this cell? This was a nightmare, not a home.

He tried to recall everything that Dean had said. He pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes, as if to pretend the unrelenting darkness was a choice and not something forced on him. His head hurt, a lot, and trying to remember seemed to make it worse. He was probably concussed.

_Had... had Dean mentioned something about Cas?_

Sam was nearly certain that he had. Did that mean that Dean had captured Cas as well? But how did one “capture” an angel? Sam supposed that somewhere in the combined magical stores of the Men of Letters that it was entirely possible that something existed capable of imprisoning an angel.

And Dean had been in those stores, cataloguing them. 

And how, _how_ had Dean taken his voice??

Sam would be the first to admit that he didn't, _they_ didn't know what the extent of Dean's powers might be. No one had ever combined “Knight of Hell” and “Mark of Cain” like Dean had. But this, this was incomprehensible. Softly, Sam tried to speak again. Still nothing. Which meant that Dean's powers worked even at range.

Sam clutched his aching head, trying to figure out why this was happening.

He winced when the lights came back on.

The door opened, and Dean came in carrying a bowl.

“Hungry, Sammy?”

Sam looked up at him through watery eyes.

Dean made a tight fist with the hand that wasn't holding the bowl, and then unclenched it slowly. Sam felt something release within his throat.

“Asked you a question, Sammy. It's rude not to answer.”

Sam tried to speak, and it turned into a soft cough. Bringing a hand up to his throat, he managed to whisper, “Y-yes.”

Dean quirked an eyebrow up, a slight smile forming on his face. “Well, that wasn't very polite. I guess you don't want it after all.” He turned to leave.

“No! Dean...” Sam gulped and reached towards Dean. Dean paused, close to the doorway. The words seemed to stick in Sam's throat. He let his arm fall. He chose to address the floor. “Please. Please, Dean, I'm hungry.”

Dean turned back to Sam. “That's a little better, absolutely. But I think you could do better.”

Sam looked up at Dean, blankly. He didn't know what Dean wanted to hear.

Dean smiled his half-smile back down at Sam, waiting for him to figure it out.

Sam froze, confused. An ugly sort of truth was working itself out inside his head. He thought he might know what Dean wanted to hear. A memory from earlier struck him - _“You should be grateful...”_

His face burned crimson with humiliation, and he lowered his gaze again. “P-please. I'd be very grate... ful if I could have some food.”

Dean moved to Sam and crouched before him, putting the bowl on the floor. It appeared to be oatmeal, steam still rising from the surface. A spoon was stuck into it, leaning against the side of the bowl. Food, hot food. Sam's stomach rumbled loudly. Sam wasn't sure if it was a trick, or if it was safe to reach for the bowl. He glanced nervously up at Dean.

Dean's voice was very soft. “That's more like it. Appreciative. Which is what you ought to be. Like I said, you have no idea how many privileges you have, and how many of them you can lose.” Sam trembled.

“You already know about the clothing. Light. Your voice. What else do you have to lose?” Dean narrowed his eyes. “How great do you think it'd smell in here, if I turned off your water, hmm? Water is a privilege. You know how long it'd take you to die without it, I know you do. Food – definitely a privilege. How about air?” Dean's gaze pierced into Sam.

Sam suddenly felt the choking pressure back against his throat, only this time, it didn't let up after a few moments. His eyes widened as he panicked, hands scrabbling at his throat.

Dean hissed. “The only reason you're alive now is because I think you have the potential to be entertaining. I could kill you, just like this, without any sort of trouble at all. Do you want to die, Sammy?”

Sam shook his head frantically, mouth wide, trying to get air into his lungs. Blackness boiled at the edges of his vision. Just when he was sure he was going to pass out, the pressure was released, and he was able to suck in a gasping breath. He coughed convulsively, head hanging low, as Dean stared at him.

“So, you're gonna be my good boy, right? Good baby brother. Gonna do what I say, when I say it. Gonna be grateful for all the... kindness that I show you. For my attentions. Gonna do your best to be entertaining for me, yeah?”

Sam nodded mutely, still trying to catch his breath.

“Words, Sammy.” Sam felt a shadow of pressure on his throat.

“Y... yes. Yes, Dean.”

Dean tilted his head inquisitively. “Got something to thank me for, Sammy?”

Sam stiffened in his spot on the floor. Anger coiled through him at what Dean was doing, how he was treating him. His voice was scratchy. “Yeah... yeah, Dean.” Sam's hands curled into fists against the gritty floor. “Thanks for imprisoning me here. Thanks for busting up my head and my ribs. Thanks for making me piss in a goddamned hole in the floor. Let me go, Dean. Let Cas go. Let us help you. Please.”

Sam tried to lunge at Dean, but his legs were weak and his balance off, and Dean neatly sidestepped him while Sam ended up sprawled on the floor.

Dean tsked and shook his head. “Wrong answer, baby boy.”

Dean walked to where Sam lay, and brought the tip of his boot gently against Sam's broken ribs, gradually increasing the pressure. Sam gasped and clenched his teeth, biting off the scream, trying weakly to move away from the pressure.

“No.” Dean said, simply, and Sam seemed to lose control of every muscle in his body. Dean pressed a little harder, enough to grind the broken bones together, and Sam did scream, then.

Dean took his boot off Sam's ribs and took a step back, watching him sob on the floor. He gave Sam a moment, before using his powers to hoist Sam up by the neck, facing him. Sam's toes barely brushed the floor. He gradually increased the pressure on Sam's neck, watching as his harsh, shallow breaths abruptly stopped.

Sam's tear-filled eyes met Dean's as he choked. He felt the darkness coming, and wondered if Dean was going to kill him now. Dean didn't even look angry, just blank, and if anything, faintly disappointed. The emerald eyes were the last thing he saw as the darkness enveloped him.

Dean allowed Sam to drop once he was unconscious. He removed the pressure from his throat, but kept him silent, for now. He stared down at the battered, still form of his brother. He stooped to pick up the bowl of oatmeal, now cold, abandoned on the floor. Maybe Sam's behaviour would improve enough to warrant food tomorrow.

 

*

 

Across the bunker, Cas felt Sam's mounting agony, suddenly vanishing into blankness. He was glad that Dean had allowed the slip into unconsciousness. He hoped Dean would allow him to go to Sam. Soon.

 

*

 

Sam had no way of knowing how long he was out for. His ribs ached, his throat burned, and the headache was nearly crippling. The nausea – he wasn't sure if that was from the concussion, or the asphyxia – he snorted softly to himself – or maybe from being so damned hungry.

Gradually, he pulled himself together, moving back into the corner of the room furthest from the faucet. The blackness was stifling. He couldn't see, but he was pretty damned sure that Dean had taken the bowl of oatmeal with him when he left.

_Food – definitely a privilege._

Sam felt the panic rising within him at the thought that maybe Dean had made good on his threat to shut off the water. He crawled slowly along the edge of the wall, one hand against it, trying to minimize the movement of his broken ribs. He made his way to the corner with the faucet, a hand bumping against the metal bucket, hearing the brush rattle within it.

After some groping, he found the faucet on the wall, gave it a bit of a turn, and nearly cried with relief at hearing the steady _drip, drip_ of the water coming out of it. Again, he scooped some water into his hands, drinking deeply, trying to soothe the ache in his throat and the pain in his empty belly. It didn't help much, on either account.

He moved back to his corner, and curled in upon himself, sitting on his butt and drawing his knees up under his chin, wrapping his arms around his long legs. He wondered about the ache in his throat, wondered if Dean had taken his voice again, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to know. This way, he had the illusion that he could speak, if he wanted to, instead of knowing that he couldn't, that it was another thing that had been taken from him. 

Sam was exhausted, but he was afraid to sleep. He had no idea if it was day, or night, or when Dean might choose to come back. His last thought, as he drifted into an unwilling doze, was that he hoped that Castiel was okay.

 

*

 

Castiel was very definitely not okay.

He was still furious at being imprisoned, furious at the gall of the creature that had been Dean. His hands were chained above him, spread, and his legs chained spread, as well. There was virtually no give to the chains, allowing him only a few inches of movement. 

He was still dressed, his trenchcoat open, his tie loose and a little askew. The trickle of blood from the cut on his head had eventually stopped, the blood on his face drying and crackling. 

All the dim lighting showed him was the empty, blank table, the simple chair. The rough cinderblock walls.

Castiel knew that his vessel hadn't been seriously damaged. He only hoped that he could say the same for Sam's body.

Sam, Castiel could feel, had slipped into a restless, pained sleep with troubled dreams.

For the millionth time, Castiel cursed the collar, the chains, the cuffs that kept him against the wall. Cursed the angel warding on the bunker that prevented him from contacting any angels outside its walls. Cursed the forces that had manipulated and twisted his friend.

He heard the door open.

Dean came striding in, tossing Castiel one of his megawatt smiles, before grabbing the chair from the table and dragging it into place a few feet in front of Castiel. He plunked himself down onto it and leaned back, tilting the chair onto its two back legs.

Castiel stared balefully down at the creature in the chair.

“Not happy to see me, Cas? I'm hurt.” Dean pouted exaggeratedly.

“Abiding by the terms of our agreement does not mean that I have to be pleased to see you.” Castiel spit out, stiffly. He tried to calm himself, for Sam's sake. “Will you take me to Sam?”

Dean squinted, and looked thoughtful. A long moment passed.

“No. There's nothing wrong with him. Nothing fatal.” Dean chuckled. “And he needs the pain.”

“Sam does not need to be hurt. Not by you, not by anyone.” Castiel's eyes flashed briefly electric blue.

“Oooh, nice light show, there, angel. That all you got?” Dean laughed a little louder, this time. “Oh, right, those cuffs, and the collar. Preventing anything more... dramatic.” Dean grinned up at his captive.

“Take me to Sam. He does not deserve what you're putting him through.”

“Actually, he does. He really, really does. See, Sam's got to learn his place. His new place. It's not beside me, as his brother. It's below me. I own him. I own you. I'm so much more than I was before. The powers, man, it's incredible.” He flexed his hands, resting against the top of his thighs.

Dean suddenly looked a little irritated. “But for some reason, they don't work on you, Cas. You seem to be immune.” Dean threw enough choking force at the angel to crush vertebrae, but Castiel just watched him. Tried to take his voice, but couldn't feel the tightening of his throat the way he could so clearly with Sam.

“No, your demonic powers won't work on me. I'm an Angel of the Lord. Did you honestly expect any different?” Castiel sneered down at Dean.

Dean stood up abruptly, tipping the chair over with a crash. His eyes flickered to black as he stared at Castiel.

“You know I can't kill you. I need you to keep Sam alive. You don't think I can hurt you? I don't need powers to hurt you.”

Dean grabbed Castiel's left hand, interlaced his fingers with the angel's, gripped briefly, and let go. Holding Castiel's hand with his left, he gripped Castiel's index finger with his right, and snapped it backwards, breaking the finger.

Castiel let out a soft grunt of pain. It had hurt – more than he had expected. More than could be explained. And he could no longer move the finger. He tried to send his grace to mend the finger, but it was blocked – his grace was blocked by the damned collar. He groaned softly in frustration and pain.

Dean had moved to the next finger and was watching Castiel closely, his face only a few inches from the angel's.

“How many do you want me to do, Cas? How many do you think you _deserve_ , for being a condescending asshole?”

Castiel gritted his teeth. “Do what you feel you must. If you must hurt someone, hurt me, not your brother.”

“Not.” Dean snapped Castiel's middle finger. “Really.” He broke Castiel's ring finger. “An option.” Finally, he snapped Castiel's pinky. Castiel grit his teeth together, to bite off the sound he nearly made.

Dean took a step back, and looked at Castiel's mangled hand. The angel was shivering a bit, looking a little shellshocked.

“Yeah, that collar is really something, isn't it? The documentation was reeeeeal interesting. Said that it ties the angel more tightly into the vessel – the vessel's pain becomes the angel's pain.” Dean flashed the huge smile again. “Designed to torture angels – probably made in hell.”

Dean ran the tip of his finger across the elaborate engravings of the collar. “But I think we can make our own little, personal, private hell. Right here, in this room. Whadda ya say?”

Castiel shot him a shaky glare, his vessel visibly paling.

“Hurt me. Hurt me. Not Sam.”

“Oh, I intend to. But Sam's gonna get it so much worse.”

“He can't handle it, Dean. He can't handle cruelty at your hands. You'll break him.”

Dean leaned in, pressed a soft kiss to Castiel's sweating cheek, and whispered, “That's kinda the point.”


	3. Chapter 3

Sam woke some indeterminate time later. Still with the headache, the pained throat, the searing ribs, the nausea. He thought his stomach might have begun to try to eat itself. He could already feel himself weakening. That meant that it had to have been at least two days since this began – maybe three.

He forced himself to use the hole again, to drink more water, to huddle as small as he could in his corner. Sam felt filthy, his hair matted with grit and dried blood, the dust and dirt from the floor feeling ingrained into his skin. The shivering was getting a little uncontrollable. The darkness, more unbearable. And yet he dreaded what would happen when the lights came back on.

Sam slowly came to the realization that if he wanted to get out of this alive, he was going to have to pick his battles. Mouthing off when Dean had food in his hand? Not so smart. He needed his strength to enable himself to keep fighting. Sam supposed that he had to let Dean think he was cowed, that he wouldn't fight any more. 

Sam suddenly wondered if Dean expected him to bathe himself. The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed that Dean would be expecting it. Rule number one didn't seem to make much sense, if he was filthy in the middle of his clean “home”. And yet Sam was already so very, very cold. He shivered more violently at the thought of the cold water against his skin. 

_But maybe_... Sam continued his sluggish thought process. _Maybe if I bathe, show a little initiative, Dean will... reward me. Maybe with some food, or a blanket._ Sam nodded to himself, deciding. 

Crawling again along the wall, he made his way to the faucet and the bucket. Setting the scrub brush aside, he filled the bucket and dipped the sponge into it. The water felt icy, and Sam second-guessed his decision to do this. Shaking his head resolutely, he brought the wet sponge up to the damaged side of his head, intending to get the blood out of his hair.

Sam gasped and tried to swear as the cold water touched his head, but all that came out was that miserable little puff of air. So, no voice, then. He clamped his mouth shut, sponging more of the cold water into his hair, using his fingers to break up the clumps of dried blood. Eventually, feeling no more clumps, he stopped, figuring that he had done about all he could for his hair. He moved on to sponging the water over his body, shivering. He changed the water in the bucket a few times, feeling a little relieved to have the grit and grime leaving his skin.

Sam thought hard for a moment, before refilling the bucket again, and heaving the contents into what he knew to be the direction of his corner, hoping to rinse some of the grit from the floor down the drainage hole. He threw several bucketfuls, hoping for the best, not knowing, really, if it was having any effect. He decided to attempt to rinse the rest of the floor, as well, lobbing the water over and over again, one-handed, as hard as he could.

Sam was soon feeling exhausted, and soaked, and very, very cold. He climbed shakily to his feet and felt, to his surprise, that the floor wasn't nearly as wet as he thought it would be. It seemed as if the water might be beading on the surface, running quickly away down the incline. He was glad to feel that the floor didn't feel quite as gritty, under the soles of his feet. 

He squeezed as much water out of his hair as he could and walked slowly back to his corner, feeling his way along the wall. It felt good to be standing – he stretched his arms and his legs gingerly, wincing when a movement aggravated his ribs. He rubbed his hands across his own skin, trying to help himself dry more quickly.

Eventually he sat himself back down, brushing his fingers across the enamelled floor. Definitely an improvement; he could barely feel any grit at all. He hoped that Dean would be pleased – and suddenly felt nausea swell within him. He lurched forward, managing to find the hole before vomiting the water and acid in his stomach into it. He knelt over the hole, head hanging, trembling, retching dryly.

Sam forcefully reminded himself that he didn't want Dean to be pleased. With anything. He wanted the hell out of the room. He wanted to find Cas and leave. He forced himself to think that he had rinsed the floor and himself to make himself more comfortable, and not, _definitely_ not, to please Dean.

He wondered who, exactly, he was trying to convince with that argument.

Sam wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, fetched some fresh water, rinsed the taste of bile from his mouth, and rinsed the smell of vomit from the small room. 

He curled up in his corner, miserable in the dark, and tried to sleep.

 

*

 

Sam was shocked awake by the blinding lights flipping on. He trembled in his corner and waited for Dean to appear. He kept his eyes closed, hearing the door open and close.

“Sammy, wow, look at this! Look at you!” Dean sounded impressed.

Sam pried his eyes open and looked forward at the floor. It was very definitely a different sort of white, with most of the dirt washed away. He levered himself up to a sitting position, not raising his eyes any further than Dean's boots.

He felt Dean's fingers, gentle, in his hair. “Did a good job, buddy. Very nice. Glad to see you're taking rule number one seriously.” He pressed a kiss to the top of Sam's head. Sam flinched, keeping his head and eyes down. He felt the tightness in his throat dissipate.

“So. I'll ask you again. Do you have anything that you might want to thank me for?”

Sam stiffened. He tried to shut down his humiliation, his higher brain function – to just repeat the words that he knew Dean wanted to hear. They were just words – just words. 

“Th...” Sam broke into a small bout of coughing. He tried again, his voice small. “Thank you for... for not killing me. Thank you for the light. Thank you... for the water.” He paused, and swallowed hard. Just words. “I... I'd be very grateful for some food. Please.” Just words.

He felt Dean move near him, saw the same bowl from yesterday placed in front of him. The same bowl, the same spoon, the same oatmeal, hard now, cold and congealed. “Eat.” Dean's voice was soft. “Finish it before I get back.” Dean moved to the door, opened it, left, and closed it behind him.

Sam's eyes were fixed on the disgusting lump of oatmeal in the bowl. He reached out for it with trembling hands, dug into it with the spoon, and lifted a lump of it to his mouth. It was revolting. It was delicious. He was famished and he ate it as quickly as he could, without making himself sick. He even ran his finger along the inside of the bowl, getting every last drop, sucking the finger into his mouth. He had no idea when he might be getting more food and needed every calorie he could get.

He hadn't been finished for long before the door opened. Dean reentered the room, closing the door carefully behind him. Sam didn't bother to look up.

“Some gifts, Sammy.” He could hear the smile in Dean's voice. It was heartbreaking – it almost sounded like Dean – the Dean from before, from before the Mark and the black eyes. Sam choked back a sob.

“For asking so politely for your food and eating it all up.” Dean lowered a protein bar into Sam's line of view. Sam reached to take it with shaking fingers. “For your initiative, cleaning yourself and your home.” A bar of soap appeared, which Sam held out his hand for, and Dean dropped into his waiting palm. 

“And for thanking me so prettily for all the things I do for you.” Dean dropped a small, but soft, blanket before Sam. Sam recalled vaguely that he had last seen it thrown over a couch in the lounge.

Dean waited, silently. “Th... thank you, for the gifts, Dean. Thank you for the food.”

“You're welcome, baby boy. Eat the protein bar.” Dean waited patiently while Sam ate the chocolate-flavoured bar slowly, savouring every bite. He handed Dean back the wrapper, which Dean crumpled into a pocket.

“Next time, you'll eat what I bring you, when I bring it to you, yeah?” Dean knelt before Sam, and tilted Sam's head up with gentle fingers under his chin.

“Yes, Dean.” Sam's voice was barely a whisper, his eyes filled with tears.

Dean's fingers gently brushed away the tears that fell from Sam's eyes, down his cheeks.

“Pl-please, Dean, no...” Sam's voice hitched, he didn't think it was going to work, but he had to try. While he still had a voice with which to ask. “No... more darkness. Please. It... it's driving me insane. Please.” He felt Dean's fingers retract, and lowered his head, fully expecting to be denied, or hit, or worse.

There was a long moment of silence. “I can do that for you, Sam, but it's going to cost you. Ain't nothin' in this world is free. And I'm not going to tell you the price.”

Sam blinked, confused, staring into Dean's brilliant green eyes. Whatever the price was, whatever Dean could demand, it couldn't possibly be worse than the oppressive darkness, could it?

“Yes or no, Sammy. Do you want out of the dark?”

“Yes, yes, Dean, please.” Sam nearly tripped over the words in his haste to agree.

Dean touched a fingertip, gently, to the middle of Sam's forehead and closed his eyes. Sam felt a tingle of power coming from Dean, and watched, wide-eyed, waiting to see what was going to happen.

Nothing.... nothing seemed to be happening. Sam was confused. And then Dean's face started to blur, just a little. Sam blinked, but the blurriness got worse. And worse. Soon, it was as if he was trying to see Dean through a frosted window.

“De... Dean? What... what is this?” He looked down at his own hand, a pale, flesh-coloured blur. He felt Dean's finger leave his forehead, saw a rush of dark movement in front of him, as Dean got to his feet.

“It's the price for living in the light, baby boy. No more darkness. You get your wish.”

“No. No! Dean, you can't... you can't take my sight. Don't do this!” Sam tried to struggle to his feet, Dean a dark smudge somewhere in front of him. Sam reached out to him.

A heavy force seemed to slam onto Sam's shoulders, collapsing his legs, forcing him onto his knees incredibly hard against the shiny floor. He choked off the cry of pain, as his ribs were jarred, nearly biting his own tongue as his jaw snapped shut.

Dean's voice was suddenly arctic cold. “Last chance, Sammy. Thank me for taking you out of the darkness.”

Sam couldn't believe what he was being asked to do. His mind rebelled. No, no, he couldn't thank Dean for partially blinding him. He couldn't. He couldn't. And he had to.

Sam's voice seemed to dry up in his throat. He opened his mouth once, twice, but nothing came out. His instinct for self-preservation, however, lurched within him, loosening his tongue. His voice was dead, flat. “Thank you, Dean, for taking me out of the darkness.”

“You're welcome, little brother.” Dean ruffled Sam's hair, and left the room, closing the door behind him. Sam's heart leapt in terror, expecting to be thrown into blackness again, but though the lights dimmed substantially, they didn't go out. Not that it meant much to Sam – the entire room was a wash of dim greyness . He looked at the floor before him, where the crumpled blanket was a dark red blur. It looked, to Sam, like blood.

Sam set his bar of soap aside, against the base of the wall. It vanished, the moment he let go of it. He reached out and touched it, confirming it was still there, trying to memorize where it was. He turned and groped for the blanket, pulling its softness against himself.

The blanket was, indeed, very small. There was no way for Sam to stretch himself out, and still be covered. But he found that if he curled up on his side, just so, most of his body was covered, and there was minimal stress on his ribs. It was still infinitely better than no blanket at all, and Sam felt himself pathetically grateful for the small kindness.

He laid there, tears falling silently, eyes wide open, hating himself for being so glad to be out of the darkness. Hating what it had cost. As he lay, he felt the phantom touch of Dean's power against his throat, caressing, before constricting, and Sam knew his voice had been taken. Again.

Sam closed his eyes.

 

*

 

Castiel was astonished by the lingering pain in his broken hand. A distracting, constant, searing, burning pain. He shouldn't have been feeling it, period. It was a testament to the construction of the accursed collar, that the pain was so intense, so consuming.

It gave him something to focus on, though, as he waited for what seemed to be interminable hours for Dean to return.

 

*

 

It felt as though many hours, indeed, had passed before Dean returned to Castiel's prison. Dean strode inside, carrying a small box, and looking nothing short of buoyant.

“Still wanna see Sammy, Cas?” Castiel nodded slowly.

“Perfect. Let's just get you kitted up to go see him.” Dean reached into the box, and pulled out a hard bit gag, which he lifted towards Castiel's head. Castiel recoiled instinctively.

“Hey, hey, now. None of that. You want to see Sammy, you're wearing this. Lower your head.” Every part of Castiel rebelled against the device Dean held. And yet, Castiel needed to see Sam. Swallowing his pride, he obediently lowered his head, trembling with rage. Dean forced the hateful bit between his teeth, wrenching the strap tightly across the back of his head.

“There's my good angel. I knew you could be good.” Dean reached up to release Castiel's wrists from the wall, followed by his ankles. Castiel thought briefly of trying to make a run for it, trying to find Sam, until he saw the angel blade tightly gripped in Dean's hand. 

Dean spun Castiel to face the wall, a hand on the back of Castiel's head pressing his forehead against the cold, rough cement. “Stay.” Dean pulled Castiel's arms behind his back, chaining his hands and forearms together closely. Castiel quickly took the opportunity to attempt to straighten his broken fingers with his right hand, forcing them from their awful bent-back position, into something a little more correct. He groaned with the pain, more than a little nauseated, and Dean chuckled knowingly.

“Betcha that felt awesome.” Castiel closed his eyes and tried to focus.

Dean knelt, reattaching chains to Castiel's ankles, so that he had about a foot of slack between his feet. “Can't have you trying to run off, yeah?”

Castiel shook his head, no, teeth clenched on the bit. He regulated his breathing, hoping the nausea would fade quickly.

Dean stood, dusting off his hands, looking Castiel up and down. “Right, I think you're ready. Let's go.”

Dean clamped a hand on the back of Castiel's neck and gave him a rough push towards the door. Castiel stumbled, crashing to his knees with a wince. Dean hauled him back to his feet. “A little more care, Cas.”

Dean continued to lead Castiel through the bunker, down a flight of stairs, into what seemed to be a sub-basement. Every once in a while, Dean would shove Castiel, hard, and Castiel would fall. Mostly, he landed on his knees, which began to ache progressively more. Once, he fell face first, only managing to avoid breaking his nose by twisting his body at the last possible moment, coming down hard on his right shoulder.

“Clumsy, clumsy angel.” Dean smirked.

Eventually, they arrived at a plain, white door, in a hallway of similar plain, white doors. Dean turned a dial next to the door as high as it would go, clicked the lock, opened the door, and forced Castiel inside. 

 

*

 

Sam startled awake as the light level rose dramatically. He pushed the blanket down, pushed his hair out of his face, and tried to make out what was happening beside the door.

There was a lot of movement, too much movement, and Sam watched as one tall shape forced a second tall shape to its knees. The person standing bent over, did something to the one kneeling, and stood again.

“Sammy. Look, I brought you a friend.” Sam could hear the dark amusement in Dean's voice.

Sam heard the unmistakable growl that could only be from Castiel.

“Cas here, our friendly neighbourhood angel, wanted to see you. Lay on hands, so to speak. Come here, Sammy.”

Sam wasn't convinced that it wasn't some sort of trick. He crawled, slowly, towards the figure kneeling on the floor. As he drew closer, he was able to make out the faint outline of the beige trenchcoat, the shock of dark hair, a pale face. Forgetting, he tried to speak, say Castiel's name, but nothing came out when he opened his mouth. Sam reached out, gently touched Castiel's face, reassured by the warmth and the lack of red blood in his misty vision.


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel was appalled.

Sam was covered in some sort of... demonic taint. His throat... his voice had been taken, and his... his eyes. His eyes were misted over, white fogging the brilliant hazel.

His slender body, naked, was covered with bruises. His throat purpled with them, and a hideous black, mustard, and green blotch spread across his ribs on the left hand side. Broken, clearly- that would be the source of the pain Castiel had been sensing. 

But the thing that broke Castiel's heart was the tiny smile on Sam's face when he touched Castiel's own. Sam seemed reassured that whatever tortures Dean might inflict upon him, that Castiel seemed to be okay.

Castiel was livid.

He looked around the small room, disgusted with the conditions that Dean had been keeping Sam in. A small blanket, clearly not big enough to cover Sam's 6'4” frame. The bucket, the hole in the floor. An unused bar of soap, nestled at the base of the wall, near where Sam had been sleeping. On the floor. He had kept Sam on a cold floor.

Castiel turned his face up to Dean, Sam's hand still resting against his cheek. Dean, who had hog-tied him on the floor nearly the moment they had stepped in the room, fastening his ankle chains to his wrists. Dean, who had an impish smile on his face, and winked, WINKED down at Castiel, who shot daggers right back at him.

 

*

 

“I'm gonna unchain one of your hands, here.” Dean chuckled. “Maybe the one that isn't broken. And then I'm gonna loosen the collar, and then you're gonna fix Sam, all right, angel? And if you fix your own hand, I'll break all the fingers on both. Clear?” 

Sam's eyes widened. Cas's fingers were broken? But surely, he couldn't be feeling much of the pain – Sam knew Cas's perception of what his vessel experienced was muted. 

Sam caught the barest hint of movement from Castiel's head, and Dean leaned towards him. Sam pulled his hand back, placed it against his thigh. A clanking, as of chains, reverberated through the small room. Soon, Sam saw a hand coming towards him, and closed his eyes.

Sam felt two of Cas's fingers touch his forehead and felt warmth spread through him. It was a peculiar sensation, feeling his bones mend together, for the pain that Sam felt with every breath to suddenly vanish. The crushed sensation from his throat lifted, leaving only the tightness that Sam knew was a gift of Dean's powers. Sam took a moment to breathe deeply, without pain, for the first time in days.

He was actually alarmed, when he felt even that tightness vanish.

“Thank Cas, Sammy. And thank me.”

Sam swallowed hard, clearing his throat. “Thank you, Cas...” he paused, worried. “Are you okay? What did he do to...” A hand shot out and gripped Sam's throat, cutting off his air.

Another snarl from Castiel.

“Quiet, Sam. Quiet. I told you what to say. Say it, and nothing else. Understand?”

Sam choked, trying to nod, to show his understanding. Dean maintained his grip for a few more long moments, before letting go. Sam's eyes watered, he gasped in great lungfuls of air and coughed. He was quiet for a few seconds, before forcing out, “Th... thank you, Dean, for bringing Cas... to heal me.”

“You're welcome, baby boy. Now, how about you get up, and go and face the far wall there, hmm?”

Sam wasn't sure what Dean was planning, but there was no way it could be good. He climbed unsteadily to his feet, turned towards the far wall, and walked slowly towards it, his hands out in front of him. His fingers brushed the cool enamel, and he stood close to the wall, facing it, breathing a little heavily.

“Back up a little, there, sport, maybe about a step and a half.” Sam took the requested step back. “Hands up, against the wall, around shoulder height. Bend over, just a little. Spread your legs, shoulder width.” The enamel was cool against Sam's sweating palms, and he shuffled his feet apart, feeling very vulnerable. His back felt very exposed.

“What'd I tell you, Cas, sexy, isn't he? So pretty.”

Sam's blood ran cold, and he trembled. No. No. No no no no no no. This... this was his brother. His best friend. The man who raised him, who changed his diapers. This wasn't happening. Panic flared within him, and his only thought was of escape. Sam tried to turn, to flee, to keep running and never look back, only to discover that his body was no longer obeying his commands. He was somehow locked in the position that Dean wanted him in. That Sam had gotten into, voluntarily. His heart rabbited in his chest. Sam didn't dare speak.

Castiel growled again.

Dean laughed, a low, evil sound, as though he knew exactly what Sam was thinking and feeling. As if he could smell Sam's panic.

“Don't worry, little brother. That's not what this is about. Well, not this time, anyway.”

Somehow, this wasn't the least bit reassuring. Sam tried to turn his head, to see what might be coming, but his head was also frozen in place.

“See, Sammy, I'm gonna help you out, here. There's some stuff you gotta learn, but I somehow doubt that you're gonna be able to hold position for what I'm gonna teach you.” Sam heard a soft noise, as if Dean had cricked his neck. “So I'll just hold you there, so you don't piss me off more by falling before I'm done.”

 _Falling?! Why would I be falling??_ Sam's heart rate ratcheted up a few more notches.

Dean's heat was suddenly pressed along Sam's back, his breath hot in Sam's ear, his voice an intimate whisper. “You can scream, okay, once we get started. Cry, whatever, but no talking. No begging. I hear one word out of your mouth, and Cas gets twice what you're getting, all right?”

A muffled shout from Castiel, across the room.

“Understood?”

Sam's fear was a solid mass in his throat. He nodded, barely able to move his head.

Another whisper, Dean's lips against the shell of Sam's ear. “Words, Sam.”

Sam opened his mouth, and a choked sob came out. Dean's powers didn't stop him from shaking like a leaf. He clenched his eyes together, tightly, squeezing tears out. 

Sam wanted to rail against Dean, to shout, scream that this wasn't fair, this wasn't happening, that he could fight whatever was making him do this. That he didn't have to do this. _Please, please no._

The whisper of Dean's voice, in his head - _Cas gets twice what you're getting_ – stopped him.

“Y-yes, I u-understand... Dean...”

Dean stood suddenly, backing away, and Sam's back felt very cold. “Great! Let's get this show on the road!”

 

*

 

Castiel watched Dean tormenting Sam, felt wave after wave of Sam's terror crash over him.

He watched as Dean turned to the small box that he had brought with him to Sam's cell.

Watched as Dean pulled out a whip, a cat 'o nine tails, from the box.

Watched as the brilliant lights glinted off the bits of razor tied into the knots on the ends of the falls.

_Oh, Father, no, no._

_Sam._

Dean smiled mischievously and turned back to his brother.

 

*

 

Sam stood in his enforced pose, shaking, abjectly terrified of what was going to happen. He felt Dean moving behind him.

Heard something whoosh through the air...

Something hit Sam's back, hard, and felt like it was carving lines of flesh out. Sam screamed.

 _Agony, pure agony_. Made the boot against his broken ribs feel like a friendly tickle.

Again. Channels were being carved into his back. He could feel the blood, pouring from his wounds, down the curve of his ass, down his legs. Somehow, Sam was aware that he could hear the spatter of his own blood, against the enamel floor, over his own anguished screams.

A low, sobbing noise from Castiel.

Again. Sam's screams stopped abruptly, as his breathing stopped, every nerve in his body locking down under the onslaught.

 _Again_. Sam's control over his body evaporated. Had he not been held up, he'd have collapsed. Sam had a horrible vision of what his back must look like, imagined exposed spine. He hauled in a breath and vomited water and bile.

 _Again_. This time, the pain was lower, fresh channels carved across the meat of his ass. Sam sobbed, dry-heaved. In his mind, on a loop, _please, stop, no more, Dean, please, stop..._

 _Again_. His ass. Hot runnels of blood, down the back of his thighs. 

Keening, Sam thought abstractedly. That was the noise that Castiel was making. He was keening.

 _Again_. His thigh, the back of his left thigh. Sam's muscles trembled violently, trying to escape the blows. _Again_. His right thigh. Sam felt the darkness rise within him, welcomed it this time. _No more, no more..._

Sam was out before another blow could fall.

 

*

 

Dean lowered his arm, panting, spattered with his brother's blood. He rolled his shoulders, wiped an arm across his face, and grinned over at Castiel.

Castiel was in shock. His blue eyes were wide, fixed on Sam, who was utterly still and silent, his chest barely moving with his breaths. 

Dean walked to Castiel, grabbed a handful of cloth at the angel's collar, and dragged him over to Sam. Castiel felt Sam's blood, still warm, soak into the knees of his pants.

“Stop the bleeding. The worst of it. You let him bleed out, I'll use that blade and kill you where you sit. Do not repair his wounds.”

Castiel turned stricken eyes on Dean, the plea clear as day in them.

“You fix his wounds, and I'll give him more, Cas. You want that on your conscience?”

Castiel stiffened, turned his eyes to the wet ruin that had been Sam's back. He reached out, wrapped his hand around Sam's blood-slick ankle, closed his eyes, and focused.

The flow of blood eased to a trickle, and Sam's breathing deepened slightly, Castiel soothing and calming Sam's body's shock response. Encouraging it to replace the blood it had lost. 

Castiel released Sam's ankle, staring down at his own blood-coated hand.

“Nice work.” Dean hauled Cas back, away from Sam, closer to the door. “Now – watch this.” Dean winked at Castiel.

Terror flared in Castiel's heart.

 

*

 

Sam jolted awake, unsure of where he was or what was happening for a brief moment, before pain flared across his body. He groaned deeply, realizing he was still stuck in the position that Dean had beaten him in.

“See that, Cas? I can do a little digging in Sammy's noggin there, and he wakes right up!”

Sam felt the darkness lurking, trying to drag him back under, but... he couldn't reach it.

“Nuh uh, baby boy, you're staying here with me.” Sam felt the darkness pushed away, knew Dean wasn't going to let him escape, and sobbed. He opened his eyes, face towards the floor, and felt faint at the wash of red in his vision, which he knew was his own blood, staining the floor.

The pain from his back, his ass, his thighs, was impossible.

Sam heard Castiel whimper piteously.

“Shut it, Cas. This is a learning moment, here, for baby brother.” Dean stepped up, Sam felt him near his right side, felt a warm hand on his hip, squeezing gently.

“Do you know why I did this, Sammy?” Dean asked, softly, as if trying to calm Sam.

Sam sobbed. He didn't know, he didn't understand. He thought he had been good. He just wanted the pain to stop, please, stop. _Please._

Dean gave him a moment before continuing in the same voice. “Was there something you wanted to apologize for?”

“Sorry, I'm sorry...” Sam choked out between sobs. “Please... sorry... please... ”

“Baby boy.” Dean tsked, gave Sam's hip another soft squeeze. “You don't even know what you're apologizing for, do you?” He leaned in, pressing his lips in a lingering kiss against Sam's temple. Lifted the hand from Sam's hip, ran it gently through his sweat-soaked hair.

Sam whimpered. “Please... please... Dean...”

“Shh, shh. Listen. Listen to me. Can you listen, Sammy?” Deans fingers pressed against the back of Sam's neck.

Sam shook, and Castiel whined. Dean shot Castiel a nasty look, and he stopped.

“Listen, Sammy. You're my good boy, my good little brother, right? Right.” Dean stroked the slope of Sam's neck. “Took your beating so well. Even apologized, even though you didn't have anything to apologize for.”

Sam blinked and frowned, unsure, around the overwhelming pain, of what Dean was trying to explain. Why... why had Dean hurt him if he hadn't done anything wrong? Why was Sam still in so much, _so much_ pain? He whimpered softly again.

“Sammy, you're beautiful when you suffer for me. Gorgeous. Your blood... does things to me.“ Dean ran a hand across Sam's shredded back, slicking it with blood, and Sam groaned and shuddered. Dean brought the bloodied fingers to his mouth, sucked them in, one by one, relishing the flavour of his brother's agony.

“The little noises you make? The way you quiver? Amazing. You're amazing, little brother. Your pain is a balm for my soul.” Dean laughed that dark laugh again, a laugh that Sam had never heard before Dean had died and woken up a demon.

Sam found himself whispering, “Please... please... Dean, please, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop...”

“Shh, Sammy, baby. It's time to listen. You listening, Sammy?”

“Y-yes, please... please...”

Castiel moaned.

“Sammy, sometimes you're gonna hurt, just because I want you to hurt. I mean, yeah, you misbehave, you're gonna get punished. You mouth off, you're gonna get punished. You try to escape, you're gonna get punished. But there's gonna be times, a lot of times, Sammy, when you're gonna hurt just because I want you to. Do you understand?”

Sam didn't, he really didn't, he just needed the pain to stop.

Dean rested a heavy hand on the back of Sam's neck and sighed. “All right, baby brother, we're almost done here. Can you hold on just a little longer?”

Sam sobbed, “No, no, no... please... please, Dean... make it stop...”

“Shh, baby. Can you do that for me? Here's the deal. You stop begging, no more words. When you stop, I'll start timing. Fifteen minutes, okay? Fifteen minutes after you stop begging, I'll let Cas fix you up.”

Sam clamped his mouth shut, his eyes shut, and shook. It was the longest fifteen minutes of his life.


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel watched Dean basking in Sam's agony, Sam silent except for the occasional sob or whimper. Dean looked calm, controlled, peaceful. Castiel was sickened.

It was the longest fifteen minutes of Castiel's long existence, as well.

As the time ended, Dean sighed almost wistfully, grabbed Castiel, and dragged him back to Sam. As Castiel reached out to touch the suffering man, Dean grabbed his wrist in an iron grasp, a few inches from Sam's ankle. He tipped Castiel's face towards his own, fingers gentle on Castiel's jaw.

“Behave yourself, angel. Or Sam could be spending a lot more time like this, because of you. Are we clear?”

Castiel stared into Dean's pitch black eyes for a moment, before lowering his own and nodding mutely. He understood only too clearly.

Dean released his wrist, and Castiel immediately closed the distance between his fingertips and Sam's ankle. Gripping it firmly, he sent a huge wave of powerful, soothing healing to Sam. He heard Sam sigh in relief. Castiel turned his eyes up, and saw Sam sag visibly in his bonds. The ghastly wounds closed, leaving beautiful, untouched, unmarred skin, still slick with blood.

Dean blinked once, and Sam collapsed to the floor.

“Let's go, angel.” Dean recuffed Castiel's wrist, refastened the collar, and unchained his wrist from his ankles. He hauled Castiel to his feet, opened the door, and pushed him through it. Together, they made their way back to Castiel's dungeon cell, Dean whistling “Highway to Hell”.

Dean was positively chatty as he rechained Castiel to the wall. “Good work in there. I guess we'll add a “one” to the list of the number of times you've saved Sam's life.”

Dean removed the bit from Castiel's mouth. Castiel stretched his aching jaw, cleared his throat.

“You are a monster. You are not Dean Winchester. Dean Winchester would never have done what you did to Sam just now. He'd have died first. Sam will never recover from this.”

“See, that's where you're wrong, Cas. I am Dean. I am Sammy's big brother. Just – the new version. Dean 2.0. Fewer hangups, more superpowers. And I don't need him to recover from this.” Dean shot Castiel that shark-like grin. “I just need him to learn from it.”

Dean left the room, closing the door with a clang.

 

*

 

Sam lay, stunned, in a heap on the floor, in a pool of his own blood and vomit.

One moment, he had been in agony, begging silently in his head, over and over, and then suddenly, the pain was gone. Sam shivered.

Slowly, he stretched out his arm, waiting for the phantom pain to flare, but there was nothing. He pushed himself up to sitting, feeling faint but... not in pain. He crawled, knees dragging in his own blood, back to his corner, and curled up in as small a ball as he could make of himself, pulling his blanket over him as best he could, desperate for some small source of comfort.

The door opened.

Sam's breath stopped in terror. He kept his eyes shut tight. _No, no no no no no..._

Steps across the room, drawing closer. A gentle hand on his shoulder, a small, comforting rub.

“Sammy.” Dean's fingers touched Sam's forehead, and Sam felt a faint tingle. His eyes... he opened his eyes and watched the sight of Dean's boot, jean-clad leg, knee, gradually go from a dark blur into crisp focus. 

Sam drew in a shaky breath. Dean returned his hand to Sam's shoulder. Sam blinked a few times, to be sure his ability to focus wasn't going to vanish. It didn't seem to be. He turned his face, his eyes up to Dean, who was smiling down at him, green eyes sparkling.

“Did good today, Sammy. Real good.” Soft squeeze of his shoulder. “Got a special treat for you. C'mon. Get up.”

Sam wasn't sure he wanted anything to do with any “special treat” from Dean, but he knew that if he tried to refuse, it'd probably mean another vicious beating. He shifted to stand, and Dean helped him to his feet.

Sam got his first good look at the room, at Dean. His knees went out from under him, and he'd have fallen if it weren't for Dean's arm around him, Dean pressed close beside him.

Blood. There was blood everywhere. A large pool on the floor, but... the _splatter_. The walls, the ceiling... Dean's face was covered with it, like a second set of freckles, and there was a smear of it across one cheek. His clothes were covered in a spray of droplets.

Dean's green eyes, his half-smile at Sam, were framed in the remnants of his violence.

“C'mon.” Dean tugged Sam towards the unknown door, the one he had yet to see open. Sam stiffened, fought Dean's hold.

“No.” A hint of coldness in Dean's voice, hint of a warning.

Sam allowed himself to be led, still pressed against Dean's side, to the door. Dean took out a key, unlocked it, and swung it open. He flipped on a switch near the doorframe.

A bathroom, it was just a bathroom, with a vanity, a toilet, and nook with a substantial tub, a showerhead mounted above it on a long hose. Shower supplies, towels. Sam dared to relax slightly. Just a bathroom. Instead of being tiled, it was walled and floored with the same glossy enamel that lined Sam's room. It had a drain in the middle of the floor, and the same gentle slope towards it.

“Gotta use the facilities, man? Go ahead, I'll give you some privacy.” Dean led him to the vanity, placed his hands against it for support, turned, and walked out, closing the door most of the way behind him.

Sam stood still for a moment, looking down at his hands, coated in drying blood, before looking up at the mirror above the sink before him. He wasn't sure he recognized the man staring back. He looked haunted, the man in the mirror. His eyes hollow, dark purple blotches beneath. A ring of darkening bruises around his throat.

Sam looked back down, turned the water on (warm water – what a concept), and scrubbed the blood from his hands. Saw, off to the side, a toothbrush and toothpaste. Rinsed the bile flavour from his mouth, scrubbed his teeth. Took a moment to use the toilet, washed his hands again, and moved to the door, opening it a little, his head and gaze pointed at the floor.

“You good? Okay, into the tub.” Dean shooed him back towards the tub. Sam climbed carefully in, sat himself against the cold metal at the end furthest from the taps. Dean sat on the edge, fiddled with the taps and the showerhead, and soon had a pleasantly warm stream coming from it. 

“Come here.” Dean held out his hand. Sam shifted towards him, towards the warm water, still refusing to make eye contact, not reaching for the proffered hand. Dean sighed softly, but let it go. He directed the warm spray against Sam's hair, his body, wetting him down, watching the pinkness of the water swirling down the drain. He washed and conditioned Sam's hair, rubbed him down with a washcloth, and rinsed him off. All the while Sam curled into himself, eyes downcast.

“Stand.” Sam climbed to his feet in the tub, his arms hugged protectively against himself. Dean dried him carefully with a scratchy towel, mussed his hair with it. “Out.” Dean gestured back towards Sam's cell.

Sam hesitated, worried, deeply unwilling to return to his bloodspattered cell.

Dean frowned and his hand shot out, sinking into the hair on the back of Sam's head. He dragged Sam, bodily, out of the tub. Sam's hands flew to the back of his head with a whimper, trying to ease the pull, tripping over the edge of the tub and across the room as Dean pulled him.

Dean threw Sam towards the middle of the room once they were outside the door. Sam crashed, hard, to his hands and knees, stunned at the force that Dean had applied. He heard the door to the bathroom click shut and lock. He lowered himself to the floor, resting on his right hip, getting the pressure off of his aching knees. He thought he might have broken a kneecap.

“You know, Sammy, I do a lot for you. I don't ask much. I've given you, what, like, three rules? How do you fuck up three rules, man?”

Sam felt Dean move to stand behind him; a cold, menacing presence at his back. Dean was eerily silent, and Sam got the distinct impression that he was waiting for an answer to what Sam had assumed was a rhetorical question.

An open hand slapped Sam upside the head and he winced. Only enough to startle - that one had been a warning shot. “I... I don't know....”

“What are your rules, Sam?” Dean sounded exasperated.

“Keep my home clean.” Sam answered immediately, his voice barely a whisper.

“Yeah... and....” 

Sam paused. He wasn't sure what Dean wanted to hear... he didn't think Dean had ever said something like “Rule number two is...”, but with the concussion, it had been hard to remember. His thoughts whirled.

“ _And..._ ” Now the anger in Dean's voice was clear.

“I... I'm sorry...” Sam began, but Dean cuffed him so hard across the side of the head that his ears rang.

“I didn't ask for a fucking apology, Sam, I asked you for the rules. What have I been trying to drill into that thick fucking skull of yours? _Gratitude_ , man. To be fucking grateful for the things I give you. And what else, Sam? What else have I been trying to teach you?”

Sam ducked his head lower and raised an arm reflexively to cover the side Dean had hit. He felt Dean's hand grip the back of his neck.

 _“What else, Sammy?”_ Dean's voice was a hiss in his ear.

Sam opened his mouth, trying to say something, anything, but he was frozen with fear. The hand on the back of his neck forced him slowly forward until his body was uncomfortably twisted, with his cheek pressed against the bloodflecked floor. The pressure of Dean's hand lifted momentarily. Then Sam felt it replaced by the sole of his boot.

Dean had his boot against Sam's neck, pinning him to the floor of his wretched cell.

“Do what you're fucking told.” Dean's voice was soft and steady. “Obedience, Sammy. You're not doing a really bang-up job on it, so far. Not doing a bang-up job on either of the other two rules, either.” Dean's boot pressed a little harder. Sam knew that it wouldn't be particularly difficult for Dean to snap his neck. “I'd suggest you try some words now. To remedy this situation.”

Words... Dean wanted words, when Sam was convinced he was moments from having his neck snapped. _Gratitude._ “Th... thank you, Dean, for...” Sam gulped, his voice a little garbled from the pressure on his throat and the angle of his head. “For allowing me the use of the... bathroom. Thank you.”

“Mmm hmm.” Dean didn't sound impressed.

Sam's fear was getting the better of him, and he whimpered. “I'm... I'm sorry I'm not more... obedient. Sorry...”

“Sorry for making such a fucking mess of your home, Sammy?”

Indignance pushed at Sam's fear. Did Dean want him to apologize... for _bleeding?_ An apology, when Dean had been the one causing Sam's blood to spill?? Sam's mounting anger warred with his sense of self-preservation. Before he could decide what to say, Dean spoke again.

“Did you notice, Sammy, that new collar our resident angel was wearing?” Sam was baffled by the sudden change in topic, and remained silent. “Yeah, I found it in the archives. You should know that it binds his grace, blocks his powers, forces him to feel everything that his vessel does. Everything. So those fingers that I broke? Yeah, they've been hurting him pretty bad. Nothing compared to what you took today, though, which is what he'll be taking tonight, if you don't smarten the fuck up, pretty fuckin' quick.”

Dean paused and Sam felt icy dread crawl up his spine. “And he'll be taking his licks without the benefit of the healing afterwards that you got. He can't die from it. Unlike you.”

Sam felt the boot lift from the back of his neck and when Dean spoke again, his voice was nearer, as if he had crouched to be closer to Sam. His voice was low and silky. “I will flay the skin from his muscles and the muscles from his bones.” Sam was revolted by the _relish_ he heard in Dean's voice. “And I will _leave_ him like that.”

Sam shuddered with the horror Dean's words evoked, the agony Dean was prepared to inflict on Castiel. His friend. Castiel was their _friend_. His eyes filled with tears.

“So. With that in mind, I'll ask you one more time. Are you sorry?” Dean's hand cupped the back of Sam's head. 

Sam's cheek was still pressed against the cool floor when he spoke. He felt something inside him break. His voice was low, monotone. “I'm sorry I made a mess of my home, Dean.”

“Good. Clean it up.”

Dean turned and left the room. The door locked behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

Castiel could not fathom what Dean could possibly have done to cause the levels of sheer terror he felt Sam experiencing. He didn't think it was possible for a human to be that afraid for that long.

But what Castiel felt from Sam wasn't simply terror, it was complicated mix of some of the worst human emotions. Castiel felt the fear, first and foremost, but it was tinged with a terrible sadness. Despair. Desperation. Love. He worried for Sam's health. For his sanity.

 

*

 

Sam moved methodically, mechanically, around the room. His bucket of cold water, his sponge. He worked from the ceiling, down, straining his eyes in an attempt to spot every small droplet of his blood on the white walls. He had to stretch to get the spots on the ceiling.

The monotony of the work allowed his mind to grind away unceasingly. He wished to God that he could stop caring, but Castiel was his friend. One of his few, that wasn't already dead. He couldn't, in good conscience, allow Castiel to suffer the way Dean had threatened simply because Sam rebelled.

Sam remembered the agony, the sensation of his skin spitting, the blood pouring, being unable to escape. Fifteen minutes. Left like that for just fifteen minutes and he had been at his limit. The thought of Castiel, of anyone, being left like that and not helped – Sam shuddered.

Other than worrying for Castiel, Sam felt... a little detached. It was as if his body couldn't maintain the level of fear it had been experiencing. Like he had reached his capacity for horror and had somehow shut it down. Sam was grateful. He thought about his rules. 

_Keep your home clean._ Check. He was working on that right now. He would be absolutely certain to remove every spot of blood ( _his blood, his own blood_ ) from every surface. Leave it to Dean, he thought with a snort, to find one tiny speck of blood Sam missed and cave Sam's head in for it.

Sam rubbed at a particularly stubborn spot low on the wall. He wondered if adding some of his soap to the water might help. A glance at the wall with the door to the hallway showed the blood hadn't reached that far. Sam was grateful – one fewer walls to wash.

 _Gratitude_. That one was harder. A lot harder. But maybe... maybe now that he knew that Dean expected him to be grateful for everything, right down to fucking oxygen, he could keep track in his head... he could repeat the words that Dean expected to hear. Dean didn't seem to care how sincere Sam was ( _Good thing, too._ ) so just getting the words out seemed to be enough.

Obedience. _The skin from his muscles and the muscles from his bones. Jesus._ Yeah. Where Dean wanted him to go, he would go. What Dean wanted him to say, he would say. Until he could safely escape from this. With Cas.

Sam finished with the last portion of the last wall. He turned his eyes on the floor. The floor with the huge, congealed pool of blood. Bootprints. The smears from Castiel's knees. From his own knees, his own hands. 

He folded his bloodspattered blanket carefully, hung it over the faucet and balanced the soap on it. He grabbed the stiff scrub brush with a sigh.

God, he was hungry.

 

*

 

Castiel was meditating when he heard the door open again. His eyes opened with a snap. Dean strode in, throwing Castiel a wink. Dean grabbed the fallen chair, righted it and sat back down in front of him.

“So.” Dean rubbed the tip of his nose. He was twirling something very thin, black, a little over a meter long in his hands. It looked vaguely like a car's radio antenna. “Whadda ya think about our boy? He did good, eh? He's in there right now, cleaning up the blood, if he's got an ounce of sense in his fucking head.”

Castiel stared stonily at Dean, his mouth firmly shut.

Dean seemed unfazed and nodded. “Yeah, I'd put my bottom dollar on it. He's a clever boy. He'll get with the fucking program soon enough.” Dean grinned brilliantly up at Cas. “After what I told him I was gonna do to you? Yeah, he'll learn.”

Castiel recoiled mentally, a frown on his face. What Dean was going to do to Castiel?? Castiel came to a sudden realization. What Sam had been feeling – he hadn't been afraid for himself, he'd been afraid for how Dean might hurt Castiel.

Sam's selflessness amazed him. He'd never known a human to be more kind, loving, and caring in all his millenia on this planet. Despite all of Sam's own struggles his goodness shone through, a light to rival Castiel's own grace.

And Dean was determined to break him. Castiel felt he should have known that Dean would use them against each other this way.

“So I was thinking about what I ought to do to Sam next. I had a couple of thoughts and I'd like your input.”

Castiel broke his silence. “I will not help you choose how to torture your brother.”

“You will, Cas, or he'll get both.” Dean shot Castiel a meaningful glance.

Castiel's anger flared within him. He didn't respond.

“So, I was debating breaking every major bone in Sam's body, you know, legs, arms, pelvis. Slowly. So that he feels it all over again, every time I break another. Either that, or working him over with this.” Dean looked down thoughtfully at the rod in his hands, tapped it lightly against his thigh. “It's a cane. Metal.” He swung it quickly and Castiel heard it cut the air.

Castiel had seen humans, not so much nowadays, but centuries ago, use bamboo canes as a form of corporal punishment. It had been painful, for the recipient, leaving long welts across the skin and drawing blood if used with excessive force. 

Castiel couldn't understand what Sam might have done to warrant either of these fates. “What has Sam done, to deserve this, Dean?”

Dean looked honestly surprised. “Nothing. He doesn't _have_ to do anything. Weren't you listening back there in the room, or were you too tied up in Sam's suffering?” Dean smirked. “I'm going to do this – one of these – because I want to. Because I enjoy it. It brings me pleasure. It sates the mark.” Dean shivered slightly and glanced down at his arm, where the mark was visible beneath his rolled-up sleeve.

“Dean, you don't have...”

“Stop.” Dean interrupted, holding up a hand towards Castiel. “I don't want to hear it. It grates my nerves, angel. You don't want to grate my nerves, do you?” Dean looked up at him. “You piss me off, I go to Sam's room. And I ain't responsible for what happens.”

Dean just watched Castiel silently. Castiel closed his mouth firmly.

“So choose. This...” He held up the cane, “or Sam's bones.”

Castiel suspected some sort of trap. Obviously, breaking thirteen of Sam's bones _had_ to be more painful than a caning. But Dean never made things so easy. There was no way that it was such an obvious, simple choice...

“Now, Cas. Choose. Or it's both.”

“The cane.” Castiel blurted out.

“Nice choice, feathers!” Dean stood, grinned broadly. “See, I break his bones, he suffers a while, you heal him. But this, _this_ I can do for _hours_.” Dean looked gleeful.

Castiel thought he would vomit.

Dean left the room.

 

*

 

Sam pushed his sweaty hair out of his face. He poured the last of the bloodstained water down the central drain and looked around, for the thousandth time, for any sign of blood on the walls or the floor. He found nothing, just like the last nine hundred and ninety nine times.

His own skin, however? Not so much. He was covered in sweat, flecks and smears of blood. He sighed deeply, refilled the bucket and grabbed the sponge and his soap. Looked like it was to be another shitty, cold sponge bath. At least the soap would help get the blood off.

Afterwards he wasn't sweaty any more, he was just as cold as ever. He huddled under his blanket in the corner with the cleaner side against his skin. Sam closed his eyes against the bright light and tried to get some sleep, around the gnawing emptiness of his stomach.

 

*

 

It didn't seem like very long at all, before Sam woke to the sound of the door opening. He lay very still, eyes closed, beneath his blanket.

“Up, baby boy, I know you're awake. Sit up.” Dean's voice was neutral; Sam couldn't get a read on his current mood. Sam moved to sit up, his back against the corner of the room. His eyes lifted fearfully to Dean, who had another bowl in his hand with steam rising from it. He seemed to have something in his other hand as well, but Sam couldn't make it out. Sam's stomach gave a rumble at the thought of food.

“Thought you'd be hungry.” Dean moved towards Sam, who shrank back against his corner, pulling his legs up under his chin. Sam wrapped his arms around himself, clutching the blanket. But all Dean did was sit down in front of him cross-legged on the floor.

“Now, you did a pretty good job on the room.” Dean glanced around. “So you can have this.” He pushed the bowl across the floor towards Sam. “But if you want _this_ ” - Dean opened his hand and in it sat a small, perfect, deeply red tomato. Sam's mouth watered. “You're gonna have to earn it.”

Sam unwrapped his arms from around his legs, keeping the blanket draped over himself. He reached out and picked up the bowl. It was warm in his hands. Plain oatmeal, again. He began to eat slowly, Dean watching him. The warmth in his stomach was glorious.

Sam finished his oatmeal and put the bowl back on the floor. He kept his eyes lowered. “Thank you for the food, Dean.”

“No problem at all, Sammy.” Dean sat, smiling, the tomato in the palm of his hand. He didn't seem to be in any hurry to do or say... anything.

Sam felt the need to break the silence growing, eyes darting between Dean's eyes and the tomato in his palm. “What... do I have to do to earn the tomato, Dean?”

“Suck my cock.”

Sam blanched, trembled. His mind blanked.

Dean burst into uproarious laughter and actually rolled backwards onto the floor. “Oh my God! Your face, Sammy, fuck! That was priceless. Oh my God! Your face!!” Dean continued to laugh, literally rolling on the floor, while Sam watched, speechless. Gradually, the laughter subsided and Dean sat back up, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Jesus, Sammy. Seriously. That expression was pure fucking gold.” Dean hiccupped, with a laughing sigh. “No, man.” He shook his head. “Well, eventually, you're going to be begging to suck my cock. But not right now.”

Sam's eyes widened. Dean wasn't kidding.

“For now, tell me your rules.”

Sam was still shocked at Dean's “joke” and the suggestion that Sam would _ever_ beg to suck his brother's cock. He almost missed Dean's last statement and scrambled to gather his thoughts.

“Keep my home clean. Gratitude.” Sam's throat worked as he swallowed hard. “Obedience.” 

“Gonna do a bit better job with those, buddy? Or am I going to have to torture our fine feathered friend?”

“No! No, Dean, please. I'll... I'll do better. Please... don't hurt Cas.” Sam's eyes were pleading.

“All right. Let's see some of that new obedience in action.” Dean scooted backwards a little on his butt, away from Sam, giving him a little space. “Drop the blanket and kneel, Sam. Sit back on your heels.”

Sam didn't dare hesitate, not with the threat of Cas being tortured _so close_. He moved the blanket off to one side and shifted to his knees, which still ached. He rested his butt against his heels, his back straight, and put his hands on his thighs, gripping them lightly with nerves. He tilted his face down, towards the floor, and closed his eyes.

“Very nice. Now, put your forehead on the floor. Stretch your arms out together. Palms up.”

Sam flushed with humiliation, twitched, before slowly lowering his forehead, to press it against the cold enamel. He unfolded his arms, laying them outwards, on either side of his head. Palms up, fingers slightly curled.

“How's that feel, Sammy?” Dean asked softly.

Sam choked off an incredulous laugh. “Not... not so good, Dean.” His voice was muffled by the arms on either side of his head.

“Ah, that's too bad. My heart bleeds for you.” Dean snickered. “How bad do you want the tomato, baby boy?”

“Pretty bad, Dean...” Dean made a soft, disapproving noise and Sam came to his senses. This wasn't his brother, and Sam's smart lip was going to get him, or Cas, or both of them in trouble if he didn't stop right about now.

 _Gratitude_. “I'd... be very grateful for the tomato, Dean. Please.”

“Tell me you want to suck my cock.” There wasn't any laughter in Dean's voice this time around.

Sam opened his mouth, horrified. No, no, he didn't want that, _of course_ he didn't want that.

_Obedience._

And Sam desperately needed the nutrients in that tomato.

 _Just words, just words, just words,_ he thought in a blind panic. There was a coppery taste in Sam's mouth; he had bit into his lip, hard enough to break the skin. _Just words._ “I... I want to...” Sam choked – the words would not come out. “I want to...”

“Want to what, Sammy?” Dean's tone was a little impatient.

“Want to... suck your cock.” Sam felt himself flush dark red in mortification. Right up to the tips of his ears.

“Beg me to suck my cock, Sammy.”

Sam twitched involuntarily, muscles convulsing through his back. Beg. Dean wanted him to beg... Sammy thought of the blood spattering against the floor, of Cas...

_Gratitude._

Sam rushed the words from his mouth, trying not to think about what he was saying. “Please... I'd be grateful if... you let me... suckyourcock. Please.”

“Sorry, Sammy, that was a little fast. I didn't catch that. What were you asking for?” Dean's teasing delight was clearly evident.

A horrified whisper. “Please let me suck your cock.”

Dean's voice took on a preaching, schoolmarm tone. “Please, _Dean_ , let me suck your cock.”

 _Oh God, oh God..._ “Please, Dean... let me suck your cock.” Sam clenched his eyes shut, forcing tears out.

“Nah, not right now, Sammy, but thanks for offering. I told you you'd beg. You can have the tomato, though.” Dean placed the tomato into Sam's right palm.

Sam shivered, silent.

“Nothing to say, Sam?”

Barely a whisper. “Thank you for the tomato, Dean.”

Sam suddenly wasn't feeling very hungry. He could still taste the blood in his mouth.


	7. Chapter 7

“Cas!” Dean flung the door to Castiel's cell open. His face was flushed with delight. “You'll never believe what happened, Cas!” Dean threw an armful of objects down on the table. Weapons, from what Castiel could see. Guns. Blades.

Dean dropped into the chair and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, grinning up at Castiel, clearly in high spirits.

“Ask me what happened, Cas.”

Castiel watched Dean silently, warily. Nothing that made this creature that happy could _possibly_ be good.

“I said, 'Ask me what happened, Cas.'” Dean reached back, picked up a thin-bladed knife from the table and held it loosely in his hand. He suddenly lunged forward, driving the blade into Castiel's left thigh to its hilt.

Castiel's bitten-back yell of pain became a groan in his throat.

“Waiting, Cas.” Dean leaned back in his chair.

“What... what happened, Dean?” Castiel's voice was thin, pinched. 

“Sammy begged me to suck my cock. Can you believe it??” Dean's grin returned.

“Brother...” Castiel's breath was a little gaspy. He felt nauseated again. “He's your brother.”

“Toy. He's my toy.” Dean corrected.

“No, Dean, your _brother_.” Castiel's eyes flashed blue-white in his fury, in his disgust at Dean's sexual overtones to his own brother.

Dean leaned forward, reached out, and gave the handle of the knife a flick. Castiel moaned behind his teeth. “Remember, angel, about what I said earlier about grating nerves? You're doing it again. I just came from Sammy's room, but I got no problems going right back.”

Castiel knew he was defeated. The brilliant light faded from his eyes.

“Tell me, Cas, what is Sammy to me?” Dean sounded authentically curious. His green eyes were very wide as he watched Castiel. He picked up another knife, spun it in his hand. “This one's going into Sam, if you get this question wrong, by the way.”

Castiel clenched his teeth together so hard that they hurt.

“Your toy.”

“Damn straight, he is.” Dean got up from his chair. “And that means he's _mine_. Mine to torture, mine to fuck, mine to destroy. And if you don't like it, I suggest you shut the fuck up. For his sake, if not for your own.”

 

*

 

It took Sam a very, very long time to eat the tomato. Its cost seemed to sour the flavour in his mouth.

Sam couldn't believe that Dean would want him to... service him sexually. The idea was repellent. Never, ever, had Sam looked at any man like that, much less his own brother. He... wasn't sure he could do what Dean was making him ask for. Beg for. Sam shuddered at the memory of what he had said.

But was he prepared to leave Castiel in agony, flayed to pieces, wherever it was that Dean had him held captive? Trapped in agonizing pain inside his vessel? Sam was disgusted. Cas was an angel, a powerful being from the God that Sam still prayed to every day. A being that should be respected. Loved.

Sam wondered if there was any humanity left in his brother at all.

He was interrupted from his musings by Dean entering from the hallway.

“Sammy! Big surprise this time, Sammy.” Dean walked to where Sam was sitting curled under his blanket in his corner, chin on his knees. Dean's fingers reached towards Sam's forehead and Sam tried to recoil, banging the back of his head off the wall.

Dean frowned down at Sam. Sam looked up at him fearfully and tried to stay still.

Dean's fingers pressed against Sam's skin, and Sam felt that same strange tingle, before everything began to darken. Very quickly, his vision was black. He wasn't partially blind; this time Dean's power took his vision completely. Sam whimpered and pressed his face against his blanket.

“Ah, chill out, man. It's a surprise! You wouldn't want the surprise ruined, would you? Think of it as a blindfold. With no peeking.” Dean chuckled. “Now, get up.” Sam faintly heard a rustle of cloth. He climbed shakily to his feet, hands against the wall for balance.

“Now, I'm not just gonna use my powers to hold you still this time around. But I also don't expect that you're gonna be able to hold form, so I'll give you a little help, okay? Give me your hands.”

Sam extended trembling arms in front of himself. His fingertips brushed Dean's chest.

“Goin' for the grope, there, Sammy?” Dean grabbed one of Sam's hands and pressed it against his chest, over his nipple. Dean wasn't wearing a shirt, and his skin was hot under Sam's palm. Sam reflexively yanked his hand from Dean's grasp.

The coolness crept into Dean's voice again. “That wasn't very polite. Give me your hands.”

“Sorry, I'm sorry...” Sam's voice was a whisper. He hoped the apology would suffice as he extended his hands again, trying to keep them back from where he thought Dean was standing.

“It's okay. You'll get used to touching me.” Sam felt the sick swoop in his stomach again at the thought, as he felt stiff leather enclose one wrist. He heard the buckle close. Another cuff was fastened over the other wrist. He heard and felt the two linked together by some sort of chain.

Dean pulled him to the middle of the room by his bound wrists. 

“Annnnd _up_ we go.” Sam's arms were hauled up above his head, stretched so that only the balls of his feet and his toes could reach the floor. He could move a little, turn. The chain between his wrists seemed to be looped over some sort of hook in the ceiling... that hadn't been there. His fingers brushed the enamel.

“Dean, please. Dean! Whatever... whatever you're gonna do, please, don't do it! We can, we can help...” Sam pleaded with a broken voice.

“One more word, Sam, and I'll slit your fucking throat.” 

The words died behind Sam's lips.

“Better. Now, I'm going to give your a choice. Think hard about this one, baby boy. Do you want Cas here for this?”

Sam blinked in his darkness. He thought back to the horrible noises Castiel had made when forced to watch Sam being tortured. No, he didn't want that for his friend. Sam shook his head – no.

“All right. Might mean a little more pain for you, if I have to go and fetch our angel after we're done here. You'll have to wait, and his room is clear across the bunker.”

Sam closed his eyes tight and resolutely shook his head. No.

“Your call.”

Sam felt something very slender and cool stroke across the front of his thigh.

“Any idea what that is, brother mine? You can use your words again. No begging. You're kinda pathetic when you beg.”

“N-no, Dean. I don't... know what it is.” Sam tried to stay calm in the face of certain pain.

“How about now?”

A whoosh though the air, and a thin line of searing pain laid itself across the skin Dean had brushed. Sam yelled and tried to move away.

“God! Dean! What...? Please!” Sam gasped out.

Another noise of something cutting the air and a line of heat, across his upper back this time, followed quickly by one across his right butt cheek.

“I said no begging. And, by the way, Cas picked this out for you.”

Sam's blinded eyes flew open, trying to see what Dean was doing, where he was. _Cas_ chose this?? That couldn't be true, it just couldn't. The lines across his skin pulsed and burned. He couldn't tell if they were bleeding... until he felt a trickle down the back of his thigh.

“Figure it out yet?”

Sam's breathing was shallow and rapid, unsure where the next blow was going to land. The welts on his skin ached and bled.

“It's a cane, Sammy.” Stinging fire across Sam's left pec. “Mostly, people make them out of bamboo. For, you know, bdsm stuff.” Another line across Sam's lower abdomen. Sam grit his teeth and tried to regulate his breathing.

“This one is metal. And when you buy it, man, the thing comes with all sorts of warning labels.” Two impacts in quick succession, across the backs of Sam's calves. Sam curled his legs up defensively, nearly wrenching his shoulders out of their sockets. He lowered his feet back to the floor, trembling, waiting for the next blow.

Dean's voice was a mocking parody. “Excessive force may cause skin to rupture.” A line of agony over Sam's lower back, just above his left kidney. “Use caution with application of force. Always play safe, sane, and consensual.” Dean laughed darkly.

“Is that what we're doing, Sammy? Is this safe?” A stripe across Sam's ribs. “Sane?” A slash across his left hip. There was a long pause, and Sam tensed, trying to ready for the next blow.

Sam felt Dean's hands on his hips, one directly over the welt he had just laid, Dean leaning in close in front of him. Felt Dean's cheek brush against his own. “This is consensual, right?” 

Sam quivered, his eyes and mouth firmly closed. He felt Dean move away.

Agony, a stripe laid across both his ass cheeks, and he very definitely felt the skin rupture.

“You answer me, when I ask you a fucking question, Sam.”

Sam's mind whirled, and he couldn't stop the desperate, hysterical laugh from bubbling up from between his lips.

“Something funny, baby boy?”

Another vicious strike across Sam's ass, at a slightly different angle. At the intersection of the two welts was a spark of blinding pain.

Sam choked, “This... this is not consensual, Dean...”

Sam could hear Dean panting a little, from the effort of swinging the cane. He wasn't sure, but the thought the room felt warmer. Though that could've been simply the searing welts decorating his skin.

“Actually, you know, you're right.” Several rapid blows criss-crossing Sam's back and Sam couldn't bite off the groan. “It's not consensual, because _toys_ don't get a fucking vote.” 

“Not... a toy.” From between Sam's clenched teeth. Several more welts, with increasing viciousness, neatly across the back of his thighs.

“You live in a fucking cell.” Pain across the base of Sam's spine. “You have _rules_.” ( _Keep your home clean, gratitude, obedience_ flashed instantly through Sam's head, and he _hated_ it.) A line of heat across the sensitive skin where his butt met his thighs, and Sam groaned again.

“Every part of you is mine to control. If I wanted to bend you over, fuck you dry and raw, I could do it. You're a toy.” Sam flushed crimson and shook his head in denial.

“No? Well, then, I guess I'll just have to carry on, then, until you're ready to admit it.” 

 

* 

 

Across the bunker Castiel sensed every blow that Sam endured. Felt the heat, the pain. Over and over again. For hours.

He felt Sam's will, his dignity, tremble under what Dean was inflicting upon him. But it didn't break.

 _Not yet_ , Castiel thought to himself mournfully. 

_I'm so, so sorry, Sam._

_Forgive me._

 

*

 

“Toy, toy, toy...” Sam whispered under his breath. He wasn't sure where Dean was, or what was going on. Everything was blackness and pain. But he remembered what Dean had wanted to hear.

After Dean had spent hours punishing Sam's body, he had wrenched each of Sam's legs up and laid welt after welt across the bottoms of Sam's feet. Sam had no choice but to stay on his toes after that, still strung up from the ceiling.

His hearing didn't seem to be working very well. Was Dean still in the room? Sam thought he had heard Dean say that walking was a privilege, one he might not have for some time.

 _Disobedient_ , Dean had hissed.

Sam's heart lurched. _Castiel_. He hung his head and began to sob.

Dean watched Sam quietly from the corner of the room between the doors, a satisfied smile on his face, perfectly able to hear Sam's mindless, repetitive whispers. Dean's eyes narrowed in focus, and Sam slumped into unconsciousness. Dean removed the cuffs and let his brother, his _toy_ , fall to the floor.

He closed the door quietly after him as he left.


	8. Chapter 8

Sam woke, and was aware of two things in rapid succession; pain, everywhere, and a red light seeping through his eyelids.

 _Vision?_ Sam blinked his eyes open, and tightened them against the light. Yes, he could see.

He was sprawled on the floor in the middle of his room. It seemed as if every inch of his skin had been either welted, or cut open, or both. _So much for getting Cas to heal me afterwards._

Sam shifted into a more or less sitting position, groaning as the injuries on his ass made contact with the floor. He examined the ruined soles of his feet. Incredibly swollen, with welts and what looked like knife slashes sideways, all the way from the balls to the heels. Sam's hand hovered over the damage. He thought of probing it gently to see just how bad it was, but he didn't think he could handle even the lightest of pressure against it.

 _Fucking Dean_. Sam wasn't going to be able to walk, maybe for weeks, unless Dean allowed Cas to heal him. Sam felt ill, knowing that was exactly what Dean had wanted. Just another humiliation on top of everything else – Sam would have to crawl wherever he went.

Sam shifted to his hands and knees, wondering if there was ever going to be another time at which his knees didn't ache. _Not likely. Looks like I'll be spending a lot more time on them._

 _Servicing Dean_ , his brain supplied unhelpfully.

Sam shook his head and retreated to his corner. The gentle pressure of the cool wall against his back felt good, relieving. The blanket across his stretched-out legs felt even more soft. It was the only touch he had against his skin that wasn't Dean supplying pain.

Sam clutched the blanket in his fist, lowered his head, and cried.

 

*

 

Dean entered the room some time later. Sam kept his face down, hiding his tear-streaked cheeks. Sam heard Dean sigh softly, and move towards him. Sam didn't even have the energy to try to move away.

Dean sat down in the vee of Sam's spread legs. Out of his peripherals, Sam saw he was holding a plate. He wasn't sure what was on it.

Dean sighed again, and reached out to place a palm against Sam's shin. “Look, man, you know I didn't want to do that, right?”

Sam laughed, a small sound, incredulous and sad.

“Okay, well, yeah, I wanted to do some of it, but your feet? That was me sending a message, baby boy.” Dean's voice was low, serious and earnest. “Please tell me you got the message, Sammy.”

Sam hitched in a shaky breath. “I... got your message, Dean. You can do... whatever you want to me. I got it.”

“That wasn't the message, Sam. The message was _obedience_. Third rule. Seriously. You don't start doing better, man, you're gonna get yourself killed.” Dean gave Sam's leg a gentle squeeze.

Sam lifted his gaze a little and saw the plate in Dean's other hand. Steak and salad. A fork and a knife.

Dean moved his hand, and gently ran a finger up the sole of Sam's right foot. Sam gasped and shuddered.

“Bastinado.” Dean said softly, thoughtfully. “It's a pretty word for such an ugly act. Next time I ask you, Sammy, what you are to me, you know the right answer, don't you?”

 _Toy, toy, toy._ No, no, _brother_ – he was Dean's _brother..._

The last word slipped from Sam's mouth without him even being aware of it. Sam saw Dean stiffen.

“Please tell me you didn't just say that.” Dean stood, the plate still in his hand. “After the lesson I just taught you, seriously, you just said that?” He sounded incredulous. ”Get up, Sam.” Steel and ice in Dean's voice. Dean took a few steps back.

 _Up? How?_ Sam shuddered, moved to get on his hands and knees.

“On your feet.” Dean put the plate on the floor.

Panic seized every one of Sam's muscles. “De... Dean... I can't...”

Dean swept in towards him, grabbed his sides just below his armpits and hauled Sam up as though he weighed nothing.

The bottoms of Sam's feet came into contact with the floor. Sam cried out, and cried out louder when Dean dropped more of Sam's own weight onto his damaged feet.

Sam clutched handfuls of Dean's shirt, sobbing. “Please, please, Dean...”

Dean shook Sam a little. “What does it take, to make you fucking learn?” He dropped the remainder of Sam's weight onto his feet.

Sam howled, and tried to collapse. Dean held him up. Sam's hands scrabbled weakly at the cloth at Dean's shoulders. “Oh, God, please... Dean...”

“What are you to me, Sammy? Are you my brother?”

Sam sobbed uncontrollably, the pain spiking through him unbearably. “Dean!”

“Are you my brother?” Dean's voice was even, unemotional.

“Toy!” Sam cried out, needing the agony to end. “Please!”

Dean dropped Sam, who promptly collapsed, still shaking and sobbing. Sam's forehead fell against the side of Dean's leg. Dean lowered himself to a crouch and helped Sam to sit up. He brushed Sam's hair back, tucked it behind his ear. Sam continued to draw deep, shuddering breaths. Dean seemed to be giving Sam a moment to calm himself, Dean's hand warm against the back of Sam's neck. Sam felt Dean's lips pressed against his forehead, and then Dean's forehead against his own, like they used to do when they were kids.

Dean's sigh sounded exhausted, world-weary. His breath was warm across Sam's face. “Sammy. Man, you gotta get with the program. You're my toy, okay? And I'm your owner. Say it.”

Sam's breath caught in his throat. “Toy.” He shivered, whispered. “Owner.”

Dean gave a small laugh, “I know you're hurting, man, but I'm pretty sure your English is better than _that_. Let's try whole sentences, this time. Or I can just stand you up again, and you can say them from up there.”

 _Oh God, no. No more._ Sam's mind ached to rebel, but he knew he couldn't spend another moment on his feet. _Just words._ “I'm your... toy.” Sam's throat was dry. _Owner?_ Dean wasn't his _owner_. Dean was his brother, under the control of a terrible curse. Sam paused for a long time, trying to force the words out.

“Dude, you are _seriously_ testing my patience.” Dean's hand on the back of Sam's neck tightened.

“You're...” _My brother, my best friend, the person I love most in this world. My rock, my home. My brother._ Sam choked. “... my owner.”

“Good boy.” Sam could hear the smile in Dean's voice. “Now. You hungry?” Sam opened his eyes. Dean reached for the plate and began cutting the steak into bite-sized pieces. “Didn't think I was gonna give you the knife, did you, Sammy?” Dean stabbed the tip of the knife into a piece of steak and popped it into his mouth, chewing, grinning at Sam. “You'd probably do something stupid, like try to cut me.” He passed the plate to Sam.

Sam stared down at the plate. He was hurt, heartsick, lonely, hungry, cold. He wanted his brother back, wanted Cas, just wanted this nightmare to end. It took everything in him to pick up the fork and begin to eat; to find the strength to keep on going.

Dean sat quietly while Sam ate, wiped the blade on the leg of his pants, folded it, and tucked it into his back pocket. Sam's eyes traced the movement of the blade.

“Thank you for the food, Dean.” Sam's voice was wooden. He handed the plate back to Dean.

“No problem. I know how you love a good steak. And the salad.” Dean made a face. “I don't get it, personally, why you eat that rabbit-food shit, but hey, whatever floats your boat.” Dean set the plate aside. “Now, how about you thank me properly?” Dean climbed to his feet and moved across the room, to the far corner between the doors.

“Crawl to me, Sam.”

Sam hesitated, unsure where this was going. _Thank him properly? But I already said what Dean wanted me... oh, oh God._

“Crawl, or walk, Sam. Your choice.” Sam surged up to his hands and knees in terror, gaze fixed on the floor. He put one hand in front of the other, moved his knees, and crawled slowly to where Dean was standing. The shifting muscles pulled at the welts on his skin.

Sam didn't see Dean palm the crotch of his jeans.

When Sam arrived before Dean, Dean moved again, walking back to Sam's corner of the room. Dean bent over and picked up Sam's small blanket, folding it into quarters. He glanced at Sam's back, and laid the blanket on the floor before him.

“Again.”

Sam felt a sick revulsion, humiliation at what Dean was making him do. He shivered, before turning with a wince, and beginning to crawl back towards Dean. Sam saw the blanket on the floor, between Dean's slightly-spread legs in the corner. His corner. Sam froze. _This wasn't happening._

“Get over here, toy.” This time Sam saw Dean's hand press against his jeans. Saw the hard length of him trapped behind the denim.

Sam couldn't move, his mouth open in shock and horror. Dean growled, and there was a choking pressure around Sam's neck, pulling him across the floor to where Dean waited. Sam was held still, frozen, pulled into position kneeling before Dean's canted hips. His face was inches from Dean's crotch. The blanket was bunched up uselessly, and Sam's knees were on the cold floor.

Dean reached an arm behind himself, and pulled from the back of his jeans his favourite 1911 .45. “There was gonna be an easy way to do this, Sammy.” Dean brushed Sam's hair out of his face with the barrel of the pistol. “But you had to be a stubborn fucking ass.” The cold metal glanced along the skin of Sam's jaw.

Sam's eyes closed. _Not loaded, it wasn't loaded..._ He felt the ring of cold steel press against his right temple. The sound of the safety clicking off was deafening. Sam's eyes shot open, meeting Dean's in terror.

Dean's green eyes were perfectly placid. The force holding Sam still vanished and he slumped a little. Dean kept the gun pressed firmly against Sam's skin. “Well? Get to it.” Dean glanced down at his jeans, and then back to Sam.

“Dean... please...” Sam tried to pour all of his heartbreak and despair into his plea.

Dean tapped the muzzle of the gun, hard, against Sam's temple. Sam flinched.

“Now, Sam.” Dean moved the gun into Sam's line of sight. He deliberately, demonstratively moved his finger from the trigger guard to the trigger, before returning the gun to Sam's head.

Sam lifted his arms and fumbled with Dean's belt with shaking hands. He managed to get it undone, and pulled at the button on Dean's fly. He pulled down Dean's zipper.

Sam tried so, so hard to shut down every thought in his head. _Do what you have to do to survive._ Cas. He and Cas would find a way out, find a way to cure...

Another sharp tap on the side of Sam's head.

Sam spread open Dean's fly, and took out his cock. It was hard and blood-heavy against his hand. Sam recoiled at the brush of Dean's soft skin against his own. Dean slammed the butt of the gun hard enough against Sam's temple to knock him sideways.

Sam panted, dazed, against the floor. “Get up.” Sam sat up, slowly, slightly dizzy. Dean's cock was, if anything, harder. Wetness gleamed at the tip.

 _Hurting me, humiliating me, makes him hard._ Sam closed his eyes, felt nauseated and clamped his mouth shut. “Open, Sammy.” Sam refused, until he felt the cold metal of the muzzle against the softness of his bottom lip.

Sam opened his mouth.

Dean traced the gun across Sam's bottom lip, before pressing it again to his temple. Sam felt Dean place the head of his cock where the muzzle of the gun had been; just resting against Sam's bottom lip. “I feel teeth, Sammy, you feel lead, okay?”

Sam's hands gripped his own thighs tightly. 

Dean thrust, hard, into Sam's mouth, and Sam scrambled to keep his teeth covered. Dean didn't seem to want a blowjob, he seemed to be seeking the back of Sam's throat. Dean's free hand wound into the hair on the back of Sam's head, preventing him from pulling away.

“Never sucked a cock, Sammy?” Dean was a little out of breath, still shoving his cock past Sam's lips. “That's all right. We can work on your technique... ungh... later. Now hold still.”

Dean's grip on Sam's hair tightened, and he slammed his cock forward. Sam gagged, choked, and Dean forced himself into the tight channel of Sam's throat. Sam's nose was pressed into the curls at the base of Dean's cock, nostrils filled with the smell of him.

Sam couldn't breathe, _he couldn't breathe_ as Dean held him there. He pushed against Dean's thighs, trying to get away, but Dean's grip was like iron. Tears started from Sam's eyes. Saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth, stretched around Dean's cock. Dean's precome was salty against his tongue.

The edges of Sam's vision started to blur, and he swallowed and swallowed around Dean's length. His tongue pressed against Dean's shaft.

“Oh, God, yes, Sammy, fuckin' do that....” Dean seemed to lose a little of his control. The gun pressed harder into Sam's temple, and he was certain he felt hairs parting company with his scalp.

Sam blinked, the blackness creeping across his vision, his lungs fighting for air. His fingers dug into Dean's thighs. The muscles of his throat convulsed, and Dean came with a groan, shooting his load down Sam's abused throat, pulling out to paint his lips and chin with the last of his release.

Sam choked and hacked, gasping for breath, eyes streaming. His mouth was filled with the flavour of Dean's come. Sam spit on the floor, trying to get it out.

Dean's hand shot out and clamped on Sam's jaw like a vise. He pried Sam's mouth open. “No. You don't spit. Good toys don't spit.” Dean's hand wrenched Sam's head up to look at him. Dean's eyes were midnight black. “My come is a _gift_ , and you'd do well to appreciate it.”

Dean flipped the safety back on, and tucked the gun back into his jeans. He ran his finger up Sam's chin, gathering the come he had let fall there, and pushed it into Sam's mouth. Twice more and it was all gathered, a white smear against Sam's pink tongue. Dean closed Sam's jaw firmly. “Swallow.”

Sam swallowed and shuddered, too afraid to try to fight back.

Dean stared him down for a long moment. His eyes flickered back to green. His hand released Sam's jaw, and he smiled that trademark Dean smirk. He tucked himself back into his pants, zipped and buttoned himself. He was fixing his belt when he asked, “Was it good for you, baby?”

Sam's gaze dropped, his head dropped, and he flushed an ugly red colour. His eyes burned with tears that he didn't want to shed. All he could taste was Dean's come, and he wanted to vomit. Rape. _My brother raped me._

Sam felt Dean's gentle fingers under his chin lift his head. Sam's tears spilled over when his eyes met his brother's. Dean's voice was as gentle as his touch. “Gonna thank me, Sammy?”

Sam snapped. He violently pushed himself away from Dean, crawling away as fast as he could. Dean let him go. Sam crawled to the door to the hallway, kneeling up, pulling as hard as he could against the knob, but it wouldn't give. He pulled on it anyway, sobs choking their way out of his battered throat.

“No, no... Dean... let me out. Let me out. Let me go...” Sam's voice was quiet, hoarse. “You can't... this is wrong... Cas...”

“You done, baby boy?” Dean's voice was cool, in the way that Sam knew meant imminent pain. Sam looked back over his shoulder at him.

Dean's gun was in his hand again. He was still relaxing against the wall in Sam's corner.

“Get over here. Kneel where you were, and I'll let you pick where I put the bullet. Make me come over there, and I'll put it in your fucking head.”

Sam's hands were still on the doorknob. He turned his head slowly back to the door.

The report of the gun was deafening in the small room. Sam nearly jumped out of his skin. He saw the hole in the wall, a foot to the right of his head, the glossy enamel cracked and splintered. He knew how easily it could've been his skull.

_That gun was against my head. Safety off. Loaded. Dean's finger on the trigger._

Sam was terrified into compliance. His frantic thoughts devolved into static in his head. He crawled slowly back to Dean. He kept his face turned down as he knelt where he had been, when Dean had... Sam shut down that thought. Hard.

The muzzle of the gun was still hot when Dean lightly touched it to Sam's collarbone.

“Are you really that eager to die, Sammy? Hmm? Or is it that you want to see me carve the angel up like a lab rat?” Dean stroked the hot metal along the bone as Sam trembled. “It's gotta be one or the other. Why else would you be so _wilfully disobedient?_ ” The weight of the last two words lingered in the air.

“What's the second rule, Sammy? Rule two of your simple, simple system.” Dean trailed the hot metal up the side of Sam's neck.

“Gratitude.” Sam whimpered.

“Well, at least you know what it is, even if you're choosing not to follow it. What do you do, Sam, when I give you a gift? Any gift at all. A blanket, a tomato, my come. What do you do?”

“Th-thank you, Dean.”

“Then why the theatrics, baby boy? Why the meltdown?”

Sam made a choked noise. “I... I can't... you _raped_ me, Dean...”

Dean sounded exasperated. “Are we having the whole 'consent' argument again? Because I'm pretty sure you came out a little worse for wear on that one.” Sam swore he felt Dean's thumb pressing against the sole of his left foot, and he bit back his yell of pain. “But if you really need to have it again, we can do that. Sure. What are you to me, Sam?”

Sam breathed shallowly through his nose, his teeth gritted together. “Your... toy.”

“And do toys get a vote, Sammy? Does anyone ask a toy its _opinion?_ ”

“N-no...”

“No. They don't. They're there to be _used_ by the people who _own_ them. And you know, sometimes a toy becomes more trouble than it's worth. And then, that toy gets thrown away.” Dean crouched before Sam. He jammed the muzzle of the pistol into Sam's side, in behind his left hipbone, angling it downwards. “You'll want to make it worth my while to keep you, Sam. I can't see any reason to keep Cas around, if you're dead. You know what I expect of you.”

“Rules...” Sam whispered.

“Yeah, the rules. So what do you say, Sammy, when I give you my come? Use your polite words.” Dean dug the gun in a little harder.

“Thank... thank you for your...” Sam gulped. “... gift, Dean. Thank you.”

Dean chuckled. “Nice dodge. Thank me for using you.”

Sam's eyes and fists clenched tight. “Thank you for... using me, Dean.”

Dean pulled the trigger.

Sam screamed as the bullet ripped into his flesh. He dropped like a stone to the floor, in agony. All sensation in his left leg faded to nothing. Sam clamped a hand against his powder-burnt, bleeding side. He looked up at Dean, bewildered, betrayed, as the darkness pulled at him.

Dean's eyes were black again. “No more scenes. No more disobedience.” Dean popped the clip from his gun, examined it, gave it a tap and popped it back in. “You got one. If you'll excuse me, I have to put the rest of these into our angel friend.”

Dean left the room, leaving Sam crippled on the floor.

Sam's last thought was how very, very sorry he was.

 

*

 

Castiel felt Sam's sick horror as Dean used him. His pain as Dean shot him.

Castiel hung his head.

A few moments later, Dean came in.

“You will burn, demon, for what you've done to Sam.”

Dean said nothing at all, his gun in his hand, his black eyes button-blank. Dean raised the gun.

One bullet in Castiel's raised arm, his left bicep. His right shoulder. His left thigh, towards the outside. His right thigh. The fifth bullet shattered his right tibia.

It was the fifth one that finally wrenched the scream from him.

Dean left without saying a word.


	9. Chapter 9

Sam drifted in and out of consciousness. He tried to keep pressure on the wound, but he wasn't sure how successful he was. It still bled sluggishly. More worrying was the lack of control of his left leg; it seemed to be paralyzed. Sam suspected that a fragment of the bullet must have severed the sciatic nerve.

It seemed a very long time that Sam drifted. Hours. Days, maybe? His mouth was parched, but it was a very long way to the faucet. He was only peripherally aware that he had wet himself at some point.

 _Shock, I'm in shock._ But knowing it didn't help much.

It might have been in a dream, but he thought that he had heard gunshots. Timed, precise spacing in between each shot, like a metronome. Five. 

_Dean's 1911, the gift from Dad. Clip capacity, seven bullets. One in the wall, one in Sam, and five..._

Sam shook his head slowly. It had to have been a dream. Dean wouldn't really... _“If you'll excuse me...”_

Sam was filled with the sudden conviction that Dean had put the rest of that clip into Cas.

And it was entirely Sam's fault.

Sam clutched his head. As if, if he applied enough pressure, he could make this somehow all stop.

The door was flung open.

Dean entered, dragging Cas behind him, who seemed to be mostly unconscious. Sam's eyes were wide as Dean pulled Cas to the middle of the room by the back of his shirt. Cas's eyes were open, very blue, but seemingly vacant. Cas blinked once, twice.

Castiel seemed to see Sam, to recognize him. “Sam.” His voice was a gravelly croak.

Sam saw the blood, the holes ripped in Castiel's clothes from the bullets. There was something wrong with the shape of his leg.

“Sam, are you...”

“Quiet, Cas.” Dean cut Castiel off. Castiel stopped speaking. Dean reached down and loosened Castiel's collar. He smirked. “Heal thyself, angel.”

Castiel's eyes closed for a moment. Sam watched in wonder as the bullet holes closed, the swelling vanished. Castiel breathed deeply, opened his eyes and turned his face up towards Dean. Sam breathed a soft sigh of relief. Dean refixed the collar.

“Go on, sit up, then.” Dean gestured impatiently.

Castiel slowly moved into a sitting position, his eyes darting between Sam's crumpled form and Dean's face. 

“So you ought to know, Cas, that the reason you took five was because Sammy here had a little conniption. He's got rules, see, and he doesn't seem to want to follow them. Sammy, why don't you share your rules with our friend here.” Dean rubbed a hand across his chin.

Sam blushed furiously, tried to turn his head away.

Sam's head was wrenched around to face Dean, his eyes forced open. Dean had his gun out again, pointing it at Cas.

Sam's heart raced. _No, please..._

“I swear to God, Sammy, that's the last freebie I'm ever giving you. Tell Cas your rules.” Dean's powers forced Sam's face towards Castiel.

Tears welled in Sam's eyes as he looked into Castiel's. Sam was mortified to the core of his being. Castiel, on the other hand, looked profoundly sad. “Keep my home clean. Gratitude. Obedience.”

“And you haven't been doing very well with those rules, have you, Sammy?”

“No...” Barely a whisper. Sam wanted so desperately to apologize to Castiel, but knew Dean would punish one or both of them for it.

“And that's because Sammy here has been having difficulty accepting his new _station_ in life. Sammy, tell feathers here what you are now.”

Sam's tears fell. “De... Dean's... toy.” He swallowed hard, his eyes still fixed on Castiel's.

“Dean!!” Castiel burst out, his eyes flashing. “Stop this! This is _wrong!_ Sam...”

Dean's arm swung smoothly in an arc, moving the gun from Castiel to Sam's prone form. The gun roared, and Sam screamed as a bullet tore into his thigh. Sam clutched his leg, blood welling up around his fingers. He pressed his forehead to the floor, his eyes shut tight.

“Keep going, angel. I dare you. I double-dog dare you.” Dean smiled his shark-like grin at Castiel.

Castiel watched Dean in mute horror. The grace faded from his eyes.

“Chicken.” Dean sneered at Castiel.

“Dean.” Castiel's voice was tight. “May... may I please speak to Sam?”

“Sure.” Dean looked supremely unconcerned. “Don't stop on my account.” Dean leaned against the wall, the gun still dangling loosely in one hand.

Sam heard Castiel move towards him. There was a gentle hand on his shoulder. Sam half-prayed for the warmth of Cas's healing energy, but there was nothing. Sam pressed his forehead a little harder against the floor. His hand was cramping with the grip on his thigh.

“Sam.” Castiel's voice was rough with emotion. “I am so very, very sorry, Sam.” Castiel's hand moved to the back of Sam's head. “I don't want to say this, but you must, you _must_ do what he asks. He will kill you if you do not. Please.”

Sam forced his voice out. “Didn't... didn't mean to get you hurt...” Sam gasped as the familiar tightness wound itself around his throat.

“Chat time's over.” Dean announced from his spot against the wall. He strode to the two men on the floor, and pulled Castiel away from Sam by the collar of his shirt. He reached to loosen Castiel's collar again.

“Wanna heal up Sammy, don't you, angel?”

“Of course, Dean. Please.” Castiel kept his eyes on Sam.

“Tell Sammy what he is, Cas.” Every fibre of Castiel's body wanted to rebel. If he did, Dean's next shot would probably be through Sam's heart.

“Dean's... toy. You're Dean's toy. Sam.” Castiel's voice broke on Sam's name. Something inside Sam died a little more.

“Nice work. Go on, fix him up. I want him 100% mint.”

Castiel's hand gripped Sam's arm, and finally, _finally_ the soothing warmth swept through him. The welts healed and his feet were restored. Sam felt sensation return to his damaged leg in a rush. The pain from the bullet holes vanished, the flesh mending. Sam pushed himself up on shaky arms.

Sam tried to thank Cas, to thank Dean, but he had no voice.

Dean pulled Castiel away again, sat him near the door, and refastened the collar. “Stay.” Dean spoke firmly, and pointed at Cas, as though he were a wayward dog.

Dean returned to stand in front of Sam. “Now, how about you show Cas how you thank me properly, Sammy?”

Sam's mind blanked. _He will kill you if you do not._

Sam shifted to his knees, and reached for Dean's belt.

 

*

 

Castiel watched, disgusted, as Dean sought his pleasure in his brother's mouth. Dean was astonishingly violent, Sam utterly passive, his hands curled loosely against his thighs.

Castiel worried about the numb blankness of Sam's emotions.

He nearly spoke when Dean rammed his length down his brother's throat and held it there, cutting off Sam's air. Sam twitched and seemed to be trying not to push Dean away.

Dean looked over at Castiel and winked.

Castiel could feel Sam's panic rise. He watched Sam's throat work against Dean's intrusion, and knew that Sam was fading.

Dean orgasmed just as Sam's consciousness fled, pulling back to fill Sam's mouth with his spend. Dean released Sam's head from his grip, and Sam fell, cracking the side of his head on the floor. Sam's mouth was a little open, and pearly whiteness drooled from the corner.

“God.” Dean dusted his hands off, and tucked himself back into his pants. He was a little flushed. “You have no idea, man, how good that feels. That suction, when he's fighting for air? And then when the muscles start fluttering? Damn, nothing like it.”

Dean grinned over at Castiel, who had an absolutely murderous look on his face.

Dean chuckled, and moved to crouch in front of Castiel. His bright green eyes stared into Castiel's blue. “Got something to say, Cas?”

Castiel, at that moment, stopped thinking of Dean as the Righteous Man. As his friend. At that moment, Dean was not someone Castiel needed to save, he was a monstrosity; a demon to be struck down by the power granted to him by the Lord. Castiel's eyes flared again, his powers held in check.

“Really, why the hostility??” Dean spread his hands wide, welcoming. “You said it yourself, what Sam was. All I did, man, was use my toy.” Dean glanced over at Sam, unconscious on the floor. Dean looked thoughtful. “I guess I am a little rough on my toys. Good thing you're here, huh?” Dean clapped a hand on Castiel's shoulder.

It took a colossal effort of will for Castiel not to reach out and strangle the life from Dean.

Castiel seethed silently as Dean led him, unprotesting, back to his cell.

 

*

 

Sam came to, frightened and confused. He opened his eyes and scanned his empty room; Castiel and Dean had both gone.

Never, never in his lifetime would he recover from the humiliation of servicing Dean while Castiel watched. And what had happened? The side of Sam's head ached. His throat burned. His mouth was dessicated and tasted absolutely foul. He glanced down and saw the small puddle of congealed come on the floor. _Oh God..._

Sam crawled to the faucet, turned it on as high as it would go, and scooped the water to his mouth, rinsing over and over and over again. He gulped some down, but the taste just wouldn't leave his mouth. He scrubbed the water across his face, into his hair, across his skin. He felt as though he'd never be clean again.

Sam sat and shivered, as the water dripped from his hair onto his back, and flowed around him on the floor. He wondered vaguely if he'd die of hypothermia or starvation first.

 _Neither. Dean wouldn't let me go like that. If I'm going to die, it'll be at Dean's hands._ Castiel's words haunted him. _And it'll be because I couldn't follow the rules._

Sam looked back across the room. The floor was filthy, covered in smears and pools of blood. And Dean's... gift. Sam grabbed his bucket and scrub brush. Of the three rules that Sam lived by, this one was the easiest to follow.

 

*

 

The door banged open hard enough to hit the wall shortly after Sam had finished his cleaning. Sam heard a slight grunt, and saw a... table being moved into the room on its side. It looked like one of the conference tables from the library – roughly seven feet long, and four wide. Dean was trying to angle the legs in through the doorway, cursing softly under his breath.

Finally managing it, Dean set the table upright, and carried it to the wall across from the open doorway. 

_“Run!”_ Sam's subconscious screamed. He ignored it.

Dean glanced at Sam, almost as though Dean had heard his thoughts. “Gonna make a run for it, Sammy?”

Sam shook his head, no.

“Go on. Do it. Walk through the door. I want you to see what happens when you try.” Dean perched on the edge of the table, watching Sam.

Sam climbed to his feet, keeping a wary eye on Dean. This had to be some sort of trick; something terrible was going to happen.

Sam got one step outside the doorway, and his head exploded with pain. He collapsed to his knees, one hand clutching his head, the other clawing for the doorframe. He couldn't see. He managed to drag himself back into the room, and the pain simply vanished. Sam lay panting on the floor, on his back.

Dean's face came into frame above him. “Warding, Sam. That door knows you, man, and it ain't gonna let you leave. Cool party trick, huh?”

Sam stared up at Dean wordlessly. Sam felt another layer added to the pile of ways that he wasn't able to escape this.

“So. Seeing as you're kinda stuck here...” Dean chortled. “I've decided to do you a _huge_ favour, Sammy. Huge. I'm gonna give you access to the bathroom. All day, every day.” Dean smiled down at Sam.

Sam waited for the catch.

“There's just one little thing you have to do. And it ain't negotiable, Sammy. You saw that showerhead, right? You remember. Well, it comes off, and in the cupboard there's a replacement nozzle. And every morning you get up, you're gonna go in there, put that nozzle up your ass, and give yourself an enema, okay?”

Dean's face was serious as he stared down at Sam.

Even with all of the ways that Dean had abused him since arriving in his cell, Sam was shocked. All he could do was stare back at his brother.

“Look, I'm gonna let you do it all by yourself. Give you your privacy. But if you want to be a little _bitch_ about it, I'll do it for you. Every fucking day.”

Sam panicked at the thought and he shook his head frantically.

“All right, we're good on this, then.” Dean nodded. “And after you're done, you're going to lube up your ass and put a plug in it.”

 _What?!_ Sam's shock was complete. It must've shown on his face.

Dean reached into his pockets, and pulled a bottle out of one, “Lube,” and a substantial, black rubber butt plug out of the other. “Plug.”

Sam stared wide-eyed at the items in Dean's hands.

Dean sighed, the way he used to when they were younger, and he thought Sam was being deliberately obtuse. “I'm going to be fucking your ass, Sam, on the regular, and I hate messing around with stretching and prep. This way, I just take out the plug and fill you with my cock. So make sure you do a good job with the lube.”

Dean paused.

“Of course, you could choose not to do any of it. And then I would come in here, bend you over that table,” Dean nodded towards the table. “and slam my cock into you anyway. And I'd split you in two and it'd hurt like a motherfucker, and you'd tear, and then I'd just use your blood as lube, while you screamed on my cock.”

Dean looked as if he was considering this as a perfectly viable option. He shrugged and smiled down at Sam.

Sam was completely petrified on the floor.

Dean stood and moved to the bathroom door, unlocking and opening it. He set the lube and the plug on the counter near the sink.

He returned to stand beside Sam, frowning down at him. “Good chat. Maybe try to be a little more... engaging next time. Try some words, maybe. Maybe something like, 'Thank you for allowing me access to the bathroom, Dean.'”

Sam's words trailed a half-second behind Dean's. “Thank you for... allowing me access to the bathroom, Dean.” Sam couldn't turn his thoughts towards the other things Dean wanted without whiteout panic.

Dean rolled his eyes. “You're welcome. Are we gonna fight about this setup? Or do I have to find more creative places to shoot our angel?”

“No... no.” Sam hesitated. “When... when do I have to start?”

“After you have a sleep.” Dean cocked his head. “Do you want me to give you a hand with that?”

“No!” Sam's voice was raised. He flinched when Dean raised an eyebrow. “No, please... I can sleep on my own.”

“Come on. You know, you could let me use my neato powers to help you out once in a while. Use them for good.” Dean's face twisted into a sardonic smile.

“I'm... I'm okay, thank you, Dean.” Sam sat up, curling his legs underneath him.

“You don't have any idea what I can do.”

Sam shuddered as heat and pleasure bloomed through him. Arousal. He felt his cock stiffen and thought he would die of shame. He pressed the base of his hand against it, hard.

“I can make you want it. I can make you enjoy it. Keep that in mind.”

Dean left, and it took Sam a long time to calm himself down. He'd never been less aroused by anything in his life.


	10. Chapter 10

The door opened, and Dean was already talking before he was even fully through it.

“Sorry about the gunshots, Cas, buddy. I had to. Had to send a message to Sammy. You know it wasn't personal, right?”

Dean rested a hand on Castiel's shoulder, and looked into his eyes. Castiel's were still filled with fury.

“How... Dean. How could you do that? He's...”

Dean held one hand up, with a smile. “Careful how you finish that sentence, angel.”

Castiel clenched his teeth together. “Why humiliate him? What does that accomplish?”

Dean shrugged. “Helps strip him of his old self. Look, man, I'm just trying to help him accept what he is now. He ain't a hunter any more. There ain't gonna be any miraculous escape. You two ain't gonna find a way to cure me. This is just the way things are now. I have needs, and Sam fulfills them.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Unless, of course, you'd rather I went and picked up a civilian off the street. Tortured, raped, and killed him. I could do that. Lay off Sammy for a few days. Maybe make him watch. Find someone who looks like him.” Dean grinned wolfishly. “Yeah, now that I think about it, that sounds like fun.”

“Dean. This...” Castiel stopped himself. The last time he tried to censure Dean, Sam was shot in retaliation. Castiel took a moment to refocus. “I offered before, and I'm doing so again. Hurt me, in whichever way you need. Please, don't take out your anger on a civilian. Or on Sam. Please.”

“Interesting offer, Cas, but you just don't hurt the way Sam does. It's the whole brother thing, you know? The whole, 'I love you, how can you do this to me?' that I see in his eyes every time. That scratches the itch like nothing else. I mean, torturing you is fun and all, but it's got nothing on putting Sammy through the wringer.”

“Dean. Please. I beg of you.”

“I like you begging, but it ain't gonna change my decision. I'm gonna find some sweet young thing, bring him back here, and give Sammy the illusion of _choice._ ” Dean put on a serious face, covering his glee. “'Sammy, you bend over for me, and I won't rape Whatshisname over here.' Use Sam, and then rape and murder the kid anyway! It'll be hysterical!”

Dean was still laughing to himself as he left the room.

 

*

 

Sam huddled against the wall, keeping himself deliberately uncomfortable. Dean had said, after he slept. Some childish part of his mind thought that if he didn't sleep, he didn't have to face Dean's horrific instructions.

Sam thought about the bathroom. Warm shower, towels. Toothbrush. 

It was the thought of the toothbrush that brought him to his feet. He could scrub the foul taste out of his mouth. He walked to the bathroom, and flipped the light on. 

Right beside the sink – the lube and the plug. _Oh god._

Sam scrubbed his teeth, his tongue, every part of his mouth he could reach, before he started to feel a little better. He deliberately kept his eyes away from the objects on the counter.

He caught a glimpse of the plug in his peripherals. It really was quite large. Sam wasn't... totally inexperienced with having his ass played with, but had never gone beyond a woman's slender finger. He estimated the plug was... four. Maybe five. He shuddered. There was no way that was going to fit.

But if he didn't... if he didn't make it work, Dean was prepared to violate him anyway. And Dean honestly didn't care if Sam bled or screamed. _He might actually prefer it that way._

Swallowing his pride in favour of self-preservation, Sam prepared the showerhead the way Dean had instructed and used it.

When he had finished, he decided that he couldn't afford to allow this to break him. He could do this, and prepare himself to take the plug. Dean had made it clear that there was no avoiding this, Sam _would_ be raped, regularly. And Sam would sincerely prefer not to bleed and scream any more than he absolutely had to.

Sam liberally coated his fingers with the lube, and moved them to his hole. He rubbed across the opening, feeling it give a little, before slipping the tip of his finger inside. It was big – bigger than the slender nozzle, and stung and burned a little.

He made a concerted effort to try to relax, profoundly grateful that Dean was allowing him to do this on his own.

Sam managed to work three fingers into himself, stopping regularly for the addition of more lube. To Sam's intense mortification, beside the nozzle in the cupboard, he had found a device he recognized as a lube shooter. As embarrassing as it was, he thought making use of it was probably wise.

Sam loaded up the device, coated the plug and took a deep breath. He inserted the device and pressed the plunger, feeling the cold lube slick his insides. Retracting it, he reached for the plug, and began working it inside himself. 

It was an uncomfortable stretch around the widest part of the plug before it popped into position. Sam took another deep breath, and stood, feeling the plug nudge his prostate. _Great, a little jolt, every time I move. Something to look forward to._

Sam cleaned the device, cleaned his hands (twice), and returned to his cell. He discovered quickly that sitting on his butt forced the plug up and in, hard against his prostate, but he didn't get a whole lot of choice in the matter.

Sam shifted to his side, curled up under his small blanket and tried to ignore the plug. Sleep was a long time coming, and Sam was so very hungry.

 

*

 

Sam was certain he hadn't been sleeping very long (he felt sick and groggy) when his door opened again.

It was Dean, of course, but this time, he had a naked young man with him. The boy was a few inches shorter than Dean, slender, not as broad in the shoulders. Dark hair. Dean had a vise-like grip on his upper, arm, and the kid was struggling and swearing at Dean.

“Fucking let me go, you fucking perv! Where are my clothes?! Let me go!!” Dean completely ignored the boy's protests, grinning at Sam.

“Brought you a friend, Sammy. This is Jim. Met him at the bar. Civilian. Thought he'd make a good... companion, for you.”

The boy continued to rail against Dean, until Dean's backhand caught him sharply across the cheek and knocked him to the floor, dazed. 

Dean walked to Sam and crouched where he was curled on the floor. “Got yourself all ready for me, Sammy?”

Sam flushed bright red and nodded.

“Good boy. You just earned Jim here at least one night of continuing his very young life.” Dean smiled. “I'd have hated to have to kill him before we could even get started.”

Sam stared at Dean with dawning comprehension. 

“Your behaviour is gonna determine just how bad it gets for your new friend. You behave, and maybe I don't have any... frustrations to take out on him. He's nineteen, Sammy. Nineteen. Drinking at the bar with a fake ID.” Dean snickered.

“Dean, please... he's just a kid. Let him go.” Sammy's eyes were huge with fear. “Please. You... you have me. You don't need him.”

“'S got nothing to do with need. I wanted him, so I took him. And now you've got a new friend.” Dean stood, brushed off his hands. “Play nice.”

Dean turned and left the room.

Sam sat up, wincing as the plug shifted. He watched the new boy blink and shake his head. A large bruise was blossoming on his cheekbone. Bruises were coming up where Dean had held his arm. Sam saw the kid see him.

“What... what is this?” Jim asked Sam, confused.

Sam shook his head. “Just... just do what he tells you. And maybe he won't hurt you too bad.” Sam winced internally at the lie.

“Who are you? What's your name?”

“I'm Sam. That was Dean. I'm...” Sam wondered what to say. “I'm Dean's... toy.”

The kid looked revolted. “ _Toy??_ What the fuck does that mean?!”

“It means that living here, in this room, there are rules. And if you follow them, life is a lot easier, and you don't end up...” Sam swallowed hard. “You don't end up hurting your friends.”

 _“Rules.”_ Jim scoffed. “Fuck his rules, I'm getting out of here.”

“You're really not. Not until he lets you go. And if you're going to throw attitude like that at him, he's going to make you truly miserable. Trust me. And then...” Sam debated how much information to give the poor kid, before deciding on the truth. “Then he'll probably kill you.”

Jim blinked huge brown eyes at Sam. “What??”

Sam sighed. “Just... just listen to me. I'll do my best to help you through this. He might let you go. Just please, please, try to follow the rules.”

Jim shook his head, looking down. “This isn't happening. This can't be happening. I'm going to college in the fall. I have parents, a little sister. You have to get me out of here!” Jim got to his feet and rushed at the door, as if trying to break it down. When the handle failed, he pounded on it. “Let me out of here, you bastard! Let me out!!”

“He can't hear you.” Sam said dully. “You're in a large underground complex. A bunker. He's out of earshot, and I'm pretty sure the doors are soundproofed.”

Jim slumped against the door. “So I'm trapped here.”

“Yeah, until he decides to let you go.”

“But he won't let me go! I've seen his face, I can ID him to the cops! I know how this shit works!”

Sam shook his head. “It won't matter. Dean... has his ways to avoid the police. Dean might let you go. If you're good. If you follow the rules.”

Jim stared at Sam. “What are the rules?”

They spilled from Sam almost automatically. “Keep your home clean. Gratitude. Obedience.”

Jim's lip curled. “Gratitude? Obedience?? He _kidnapped_ me. He's _imprisoned_ me. And he wants gratitude??”

Sam nodded, his eyes wide and sad. “Yes. For everything. For everything he gives you. For water, for food, for the blanket, for the use of the bathroom. Everything.” Sam paused. “You'll hear me... thank him for using me.”

 _“Using_ you?! Using you for _what??”_

“Sexually. It... it would be rape, except... you can't rape a toy.” Sam tested the weight of the words on his tongue.

Jim looked appalled. “That's fucking twisted, man. You're not a toy. I don't even know what you mean by that. But you gotta get out of here. We gotta get out of here.”

Sam shook his head, a small, sad smile on his lips. “There's no getting out. All there is is... minimizing the pain. Following the rules. And hoping he lets you go.”

Jim stared. “You're serious.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. I'm... I'm really sorry this happened to you. I don't know why Dean's doing this, but I'm sorry that he picked you. I wish I could help you. All I can tell you is to follow the rules. Don't, whatever you do, antagonize him. Don't even talk, unless he tells you to. It's safer, trust me. The last time I... spoke out of turn, he... put a bullet in me, and then five in my friend.”

Jim's eyes widened, and he scanned Sam's body for evidence of injury. “But... you're not hurt.”

“That's... a little complicated to explain. My friend - Dean is holding him prisoner, too – his name is Castiel, and he's...” Sam wasn't sure what to say that wouldn't make Jim think he was stark raving mad. “He has healing powers. If you're good, really good, sometimes Dean will allow Cas to heal you.”

“What in the sweet fuck are you talking about? That's not... a real thing.” Jim looked completely baffled.

“It is, in this room.”

“No. No way is that true.”

“Look, kid, do you want the truth?” Sam was a little exasperated.

“Yes!”

Sam resigned himself to explaining to the kid that monsters were real, and that Dean was one of them. Explaining about demons and angels, Knights of Hell and terrible curses. He was certain that Jim would think him crazy, but at least the kid should know the truth about what was going to be happening to him.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean grinned at Castiel. “His name is Jim. Pretty little thing. Nineteen.”

Dread grew in Castiel's stomach.

“Him and Sam are making friends right now. I'm betting Sam's just _begging_ him to behave. As if the kid's behaviour has anything to do with how this is gonna go down.”

“Dean, please. Please. Do not do this.” Castiel's eyes were wide, pleading.

“It's already done, Cas.” Dean cocked his head. “Did you want to see it happen?”

 _No, of course not... but if I am there, there's a chance I could help._ “Yes.”

“We'll see. I'm still trying to decide how this'll go, to maximize the pain for Sammy. I suppose having you there might be... helpful, in that regard.”

Fear clawed at Castiel's insides.

Dean left without saying anything further.

 

*

 

Sam was reasonably sure that he had blown Jim's mind with his explanations. Jim certainly looked it. Both of them were quiet for a time.

The boy's stomach rumbled. Sam understood only too well. “Does he feed you? Will he feed me?”

Sam nodded, his eyes downcast. “If you're good. Food is a privilege, like everything else is here. It never seems to be enough, though. Or often enough.”

“Probably wants to keep you weak, so you can't escape.” Jim opined.

“Maybe. He's got lots of ways of ensuring that won't happen.”

The door opened.

Dean grinned at both of them, sitting on opposite sides of the room. “How y'all getting along? Friends, I hope?”

Neither answered him.

“Sam?” A hint of warning in Dean's voice.

“Yes... yes, Dean, we're friends.” Sam responded quickly.

“Perfect.” Dean gloated. “So, let's play the 'Who's Getting Fucked' game.”

Sam stiffened, and he saw Jim's eyes widen with fear.

“Jim. Jimmy. You like guys?” Dean turned to him.

Jim stared up at Dean and said nothing. Sam winced internally. _Kid, answer him, just answer him..._

Dean stalked to the frightened boy, grabbed him by the hair and dragged him to his feet against the wall. Jim yelped in protest, trying to squirm out of Dean's grasp. Dean spun him around and pressed his cheek up against the wall, wrenching an arm up behind him.

“Sammy, man, I'm disappointed.”

Sam's breath caught in his chest.

“Would've thought, in the time I gave you two to get acquainted, that you'd have told him the rules.”

“I... I did, Dean. I told him.” Sam's voice was small.

“Guess he's not going to follow them any better than you do.” Dean turned his attention to the boy he had pressed against the wall. “Do.” Dean gave Jim's head a slight shake. “You like boys?”

Jim gasped. “Yes, yes, okay? I like guys and girls.”

Dean chuckled. “Ever been fucked, Jimmy? Ever had a cock up that tight ass?”

“No! No... I... I top. That's it.” Jim flushed pink.

Dean looked delighted, and turned back to grin at Sam. “Holy hell. Two virgins! I _am_ spoiled!!”

Dean dragged Jim over to the table, forcing him to bend over it. A hand on Jim's head kept Jim's face against the table. Dean kicked Jim's legs apart. “I guess, pretty soon you're not going to be able to say you only top.”

Sam watched Jim panic. “No, man, please, please, don't do this...” Jim pleaded.

“Shut up.” Dean fumbled one-handed with his belt. “I'd shut you up, but I want to hear you scream for me.”

Sam whispered. “Please, Dean, please... not the kid...” 

Dean shot Sam a crooked grin. “Gonna volunteer to take his place, baby brother?”

 _“Brother??”_ Jim squawked.

Dean laughed so hard that it took him a moment to calm down. “What....” Dean wiped at his eyes. “What did Sammy tell you he was to me??”

“He said... toy. That he was your toy.” Jim sounded disgusted.

“Did he now!” Dean looked over at Sam, looking mightily impressed. “Nice job, Sammy! Or were you just too embarrassed to say that you suck your brother's cock? That you've got your ass prepped to get fucked by him?”

Sam flushed red and looked down. 

“You are fucking sick, man. What the fuck is wrong with you?” Jim tried to writhe out of Dean's hold, but ended up slammed back against the table.

“Watch your mouth, boy.”

“No! Fuck you! You let me go! Let us go!!”

“Twice, I warned you. Now this is happening.” Dean unzipped and pulled out his cock, already hard and leaking. He lined up with the boy's virgin entrance and slammed in, no lube, no prep.

The boy screamed like a wounded animal.

Dean looked blown away. “Holy fuck, that is tight.” Dean pulled out until only the head was still inside, and slammed back in. Jim sobbed against the table, Dean's hand still pressed hard against his head.

Sam saw a trickle of blood make its way down the inside of the boy's thigh. When Dean pulled out again, his cock was coated in blood.

“Much better. That blood makes all the difference.” Dean set a brutal pace, ramming Jim's hips into the edge of the table.

Sam was sickened. He tried to look away.

“Nuh uh, baby boy, you watch this.” Dean wasn't even looking at Jim, he was watching Sam. He snapped his hips forward sharply, a grin on his face. Jim continued to sob.

Sam was expecting the inexorable touch of Dean's power turning his head, but nothing happened. Dean was making him do it on his own. Sam turned his eyes back to where Dean was violating the poor boy on the table.

Jim's head was turned towards Sam, but his eyes were clenched shut, tears pouring from them.

 _Kid, I am so, so sorry._ Sam's heart broke for him.

“Sam.” Dean's voice was tight. “Get over here.” 

Sam felt his mind blank. He crawled to beside Dean. Dean's hips were stuttering, and Sam knew he was close.

“Kneel. Open your mouth.” 

Sam knelt, his back straight, his hands clenched in fists on his thighs. He tipped his head back a little, eyes shut tight, and opened his mouth.

Seeing Sam so obedient seemed to tip Dean over the edge. He pulled sharply from the boy, who whimpered piteously, and aimed his cock at Sam's open mouth, resting it against Sam's lower lip. Dean groaned and came, hard, filling Sam's mouth with his come. Dean staggered a step backwards, watching Sam.

Sam shuddered, not daring to close his mouth, not daring to do anything at all. He sat there with a mouthful of his brother's come, waiting.

“That is the hottest thing I've ever seen.” Dean sounded awed. A long moment passed. Dean tucked himself back into his jeans. Jim was still sobbing on the table. “Swallow, Sammy.”

Sam closed his mouth, grimaced, and swallowed. He could feel the boy's blood drying on his lip. “Thank... thank you for your... gift, Dean.” Sam had to force the words out.

“Jesus, shut the fuck up.” Dean sounded irritated, and Jim's sobs were cut off abruptly, with a wheeze. “You're ruining my afterglow, here.” Dean stared at Sam.

“Fucking hell. Open your eyes, baby boy.” Sam looked up at Dean, his hands still clenched into fists, trying to empty his mind.

Dean knelt before Sam, the boy completely forgotten. Dean's fingers touched Sam's cheek, the blood smeared on Sam's lip. Sam managed to not flinch, but it was a close thing. “You're amazing. My good toy. A reward, I'll give you anything you want. What do you want, Sammy?”

Sam was heartbroken. “Please... please, Dean. Please let the kid go.”

Dean's eyes hardened. “I offer you anything, and _that's_ what you choose? Fuck, your selflessness is _tiresome_ , Sam. No. No, I will not let the kid go. He's far too entertaining.” Dean climbed to his feet and dusted off his knees.

“Don't say I never offered you anything.” Dean turned and left the room.

Sam turned to Jim, still lying face-down on the table. He climbed to his feet, and touched the boy gently on the shoulder. Jim flinched at the touch, his eyes still tightly shut.

“It's... it's okay, kid, he's gone. He's gone. I'm so sorry.” Sam squeezed Jim's shoulder, and Jim opened teary eyes to meet Sam's.

Jim tried to speak, but nothing came out. He touched his throat, looking frightened.

“It's okay. It's just one of Dean's powers. If he doesn't like what you're saying, he'll take your voice. It's not permanent.” Sam was miserable. “I told you, kid, not to give him any reason to hurt you.” Sam sighed. “You... you should have a shower. You've got... blood. Do... do you want me to help...?”

Jim pushed himself slowly upright, whimpering with pain. He turned a little towards Sam, and threw himself into Sam's arms, sobbing silently.

Sam wrapped his arms around the much smaller boy, held him safe and close. “I'm so sorry, kid. Now you know what I mean. I'm so sorry.”

Sam lowered them to the ground and reached out blindly behind himself for the blanket. He snagged it and covered the shaking boy in his arms with its softness. 

Sam wished he had something he could say to the boy, something reassuring, but there was nothing. Sam lowered his cheek to the top of Jim's head.

_I'm so sorry._

 

*

 

Castiel felt the new boy's emotions shift from indignation and anger, to fear, to blinding pain, to incredible sadness. Disbelief. A sort of disconnect.

It was Sam's heartbreak, though, that finally brought the tears to Castiel's eyes.

 

*

 

Jim seemed to retreat within himself, after Dean had raped him. Sam had managed to get him into a warm shower, where he stood shivering, doing nothing, until Sam finally gave up and washed him. Sam was gentle around the boy's backside, but it had to be cleaned, lest it get infected. Jim's only response was a tiny shiver.

Sam dried him off and led him back to the main room. Jim curled up into a tiny ball, as far away from the table as he could. Sam tucked the blanket in around him.

Sam curled himself up in his corner, and tried to get some rest. It had been a very long day.

Sam didn't think he had actually managed to fall asleep before Dean was entering the room again. He had a takeout container in his hands. Quickly and quietly, he came and sat before Sam. Sam sat up.

Dean pushed the container into Sam's hands. “Open it.” Dean's voice was a whisper, as though he didn't want to wake the sleeping boy. Sam opened it. It was one of Sam's favourites – General Tsao's chicken, with a rich sauce, on a bed of delicious steamed vegetables. Dean passed Sam some wooden chopsticks.

“Thank... thank you for the food, Dean.” Dean nodded. Sam ate slowly, savouring every bite. He'd ordered this dish several times from a restaurant in town, but didn't think it had ever tasted so delicious.

“Should... should I save...?” Sam looked over at Jim.

Dean looked at Jim as well, a sneer twisting his lip. “Nah. Let him starve. Eat up, man.” Sam slowly finished his food. His stomach was almost uncomfortably full.

“D-Dean, I'd... I'd be very appreciative if... if I could have some food for Jim.” Sam rushed the words out. “He was hungry when he got here, and...”

Dean's slap caught him hard on the side of the head. Sam winced. 

“What did I just fucking say, Sam? I said, 'Let him starve.' Are you back to not listening to me again?”

“No! No, I'm... I'm sorry, Dean. I just thought...”

“Don't think, Sammy. It's not a good look on you. You do what you're fucking told, and be grateful for what I give you, and that's all. Got it?”

“Yes.” Sam looked down at the empty container, feeling incredibly guilty. 

Dean got to his feet and left. Sam glanced over at Jim, to see his wide brown eyes, watching him. Sam sighed. “I'm sorry.”

Jim closed his eyes and curled in on himself a little tighter.

Sam curled up and tried to sleep.

 

*

 

When Sam woke, he felt cold and stiff. He hadn't realized how big a difference his small blanket made. Jim was still underneath it, curled in his tight ball. His cheeks were crusted with dried tears.

Sam shifted and winced. _The plug. Jesus._ Morning, that meant Dean's enforced schedule of cleaning, prep, and reinsertion of the plug. Sam made a mental note not to sleep with it in again, he was hurting substantially.

After Sam had finished in the bathroom, including having brushed his teeth twice, he returned to his small room. He curled up in his corner, arms wrapped around his legs for warmth, chin on his knees. The position felt somehow safe, even though Sam knew there was no real safety here. 

Sam must've been lost in his thoughts, because he saw a thin arm extending his blanket towards him. Jim was hunched against the wall, close to him, offering the blanket back. Sam took it and draped it over his knees. “Thank you.”

Jim winced at the tightness in his throat when he tried to speak, and simply nodded instead.

“Are... are you okay?” Sam side-eyed him.

Jim looked hurt, and shook his head, no. 

“Yeah, I bet. I wish there was more that I could do to help. I'm sorry.”

Jim waved Sam's apology away, with a look that clearly said it wasn't Sam's fault.

“I'm still sorry.” Sam stared at his blanket-covered knees.

Jim laid a hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezed.

“I... I don't think he'll actually let you starve. But I am really sorry about the food last night. I tried.”

Jim touched the side of Sam's head that Dean had hit last night. He lifted one of Sam's arms up from his knees and scooted in against him. He laid his head on Sam's chest, and wrapped Sam's arm around himself.

Sam wasn't sure who was comforting who.

Dean found them that way, shortly after. They both stiffened and pulled apart as the door opened.

“Ah, look at that, little snuggle buddies. How cute.” Dean grinned.

Sam looked at what Dean had in his hand, and his heart stopped in terror. A coil of barbed wire. 

“Sammy.” Dean walked to the middle of the room. “C'mere, toy.”

Sam passed the blanket to Jim, who gripped it tight. He moved towards Dean, on his knees. 

“You know, Sam, I've been pretty good about doing a lot of your work for you. Holding you in place so that you don't have to worry about your form. Wouldn't you agree?”

“Y-yes, Dean. Th-thank you.” Sam's eyes were wide with fear as he watched his brother.

“You're very welcome. But I think it's time you had a little practice holding your own form. And I think this'll help.” He held out the coil of wire. “Do you think this'll help, Sammy?”

“I...” Sam choked. “I... don't know, Dean.”

“Well, I think it will, and seeing as I'm the only one here who gets a vote, mine's the one that matters.” Dean chuckled. “Now. Kneel. Upright. Ankles together, wrists together behind you.”

Sam took the position that Dean had ordered him to, shivering. Dean pulled a pair of wire snips out of his pocket.

Jim watched, horrified, peeking his eyes over the edge of the blanket, as Dean worked on Sam.

First, the wire went around his ankles. Two barbs dug into Sam's flesh as Dean pulled the wire tight and twisted it into position. Then, his wrists – two more painful barbs digging in. The third wrapped around his chest, pinning his arms to his back, several more barbs against his skin. Dean wrenched it tight, and Sam groaned. The fourth around his waist, pinning his wrists to his lower back. Two more, around each leg, forcing Sam's thighs against his calves, preventing him from kneeling up. The final piece of wire connected Sam's wrists to his ankles, preventing virtually all movement.

Sam was trembling long before Dean was done. His eyes were blank and glassy, and his breathing shallow, to avoid digging in the barbs across his chest. The pain was extraordinary – so many small points where his skin was being punctured. Torn, if he happened to shift too hard or too far.

Dean looked extremely happy about the situation. He popped out of the room briefly, and returned carrying a chair, which he put down in front of Sam, and sat down to watch him. 

Jim watched Dean enjoy his brother's suffering. Watched the trickles of blood, where the metal cut into Sam's flesh.

After a while, Dean spoke. “Sammy. You with me, man?”

Sam was floating somewhere fairly far off, and recognized Dean's voice, though not what his words might mean.

“Sam.” There was a sharp tap on his cheek, and Sam flinched, driving the barbs deeper into his skin. Sam groaned. His eyes regained some of their focus, and met Dean's green ones, close before him. Sam blinked.

“Sammy. Hey. How you doing, man?”

“Dean... hurts...”

“I know, baby boy. But you're going to endure it for me, right? Gonna hold position for me?” Dean's hand rested against the back of Sam's neck.

“Dean...” Sam whimpered. He wasn't sure he could, didn't know how long Dean expected him to stay like this.

“You're doing great, Sammy. Here, I'll make you a deal. If you can make it to an hour, I'll take you outside, okay? Would you like that? See the sky, feel the grass?” 

_Grass. Sky._ These were almost foreign concepts for Sam. All he knew now was the white room, pain, and humiliation. Sam nodded weakly, and felt Dean's hand on the back of his neck, a reassuring squeeze.

“Good toy.” Dean leaned back in his chair, and watched his little brother's pain.

Jim watched from behind the edge of his blanket, his eyes darting between Dean and Sam's horrible bondage.

After what seemed an eternity, Sam gasping shallow breaths, Dean spoke.

“That's 45 minutes, Sammy, you're doing great. I've got some options for you now.” Sam struggled to understand, the words seeming to come slowly into his sluggish brain. He was incredibly stiff, his sore knees aching, the wires and barbs cutting into his skin.

“Dean...”

“I'm here, brother. I have some options. You listening, Sammy?”

“Y-yes... Dean...”

“Okay. Option one. I let you loose now, you don't get to go outside.” _Loose? Loose sounds wonderful._

“Option two. You wait another fifteen, and I'll take you outside.” _No, no, no more time, another fifteen minutes is forever..._

“Option three. Beg me to suck my cock, and I'll let you loose now, and take you outside.” _Outside... loose and outside? And all I have to do is... beg..._

“Please, please, Dean, let me suck your cock. Please.” Sam saw Dean stand, heard him groan. Watched Dean pull out his cock. Sam opened his mouth and closed his eyes.

“Eyes on me, baby boy.” Sam opened his eyes, saw Dean's cock in front of his mouth, and looked up into Dean's pools of inky blackness.

Sam choked as Dean shoved his way into Sam's throat. Dean set a brutal pace, pulling back to admire his cock on Sam's lips, spit-slick and shiny, before slamming it back in. Before too long, Dean groaned and came down Sam's throat.

Sam groaned, too. Dean's pulling at the back of his head dug the barbs in more deeply, and the blood had begun to flow more freely again. Dean pulled himself free of Sam's mouth. 

Sam heard a tiny whimper from the corner of the room.

“Good toy.” Dean panted slightly. “Let's get that wire off.”

“Thank...” Sam coughed, swallowed hard around the pain in his throat. “Thank you for your... gift, Dean.”

“Say, 'Thank you for using me, Dean.'” Dean began snipping wires, freeing Sam.

“Thank you for using me, Dean.” Sam's voice was a whisper, and he blushed red.

“You're welcome, baby boy.” Dean pressed a quick kiss to Sam's temple, as he crouched near him. Dean pulled the last of the wires free, and Sam shifted to his hip, removing the pressure from his aching knees. His head dipped in exhaustion.

“We can go outside after you have a little rest, okay?” Sam nodded wordlessly.

Dean left, and Sam lowered himself to lie on the floor with a groan.

Shortly after, Sam felt a peculiar sensation – something warm and wet, brushing over his skin. Sam cracked his eyes open, and saw Jim sitting beside him, holding a washcloth, tending to his injuries. “Thank you.” Jim merely nodded, rinsing the cloth in the bucket, and cleaning more of Sam's skin.

Sam fell asleep under Jim's ministrations.


	12. Chapter 12

Sam woke some time later, feeling a little better, partially covered with the soft blanket. He blinked, and saw Jim sitting nearby, watching him.

“You okay?” Sam's voice was hoarse. Jim nodded. “He hasn't come back, has he?” Jim shook his head, no.

“That's good.”

Jim looked as if he wanted to ask a question, but couldn't. Sam smiled sadly. “You must've really pissed him off, he's never kept my voice that long.”

Jim looked distressed. He reached out, his fingers hovering over a nasty mark on Sam's skin, where a barb had torn in. Jim looked at Sam, as if asking about it. “Does it hurt?” Jim nodded. “Yeah, it hurts. But not as much as some of the other things he's done to me.”

Jim looked sickened, and sat back against the wall, looking at the floor.

Sam had thought, very briefly, of telling Jim about the whipping, but couldn't bear to make him look even more sad than he already was. Sam looked across the floor, seeing droplets of his own blood against the white. His heart leapt in fear.

“We... we have to clean the floor. Get the blood up. Dean doesn't ever want the room to be dirty. We have to do it before he comes back.” Sam tried to get up, and winced in stiffness and pain. Jim laid a hand on his shoulder, pushing him gently back down.

“You... you're gonna do it?” Jim nodded and climbed to his feet, getting the sponge and the bucket. “Thank you.” Sam laid back and closed his eyes. Under the terror and the trauma, he had the feeling Jim was a good kid.

Dean returned shortly after the floor had been cleaned; it wasn't even dry yet. Sam sat up to face Dean, Jim cowered in the corner.

“Ready for your trip outside, Sammy?” Sam nodded warily, deathly afraid of the door.

Dean turned to the door, placed his hand against it, and murmured some words in a language that Sam didn't think he had ever heard. “Come on, let's go.” Dean extended a hand towards Sam.

Sam climbed to his feet, grimacing in pain. He walked slowly to Dean, and took his hand.

“Good toy.” Dean pulled him out of the room. Sam had braced himself for the headsplitting pain, but it didn't happen. Dean led him upstairs, and past his old bedroom, which he glanced into longingly as he was pulled past. It seemed like a lifetime ago, that he had been able to rest on his comfortable bed, in his own, private space. Sam saw no indication of where Cas was being held.

Dean led him all the way to the front door of the bunker. “Now, we're not going to have any issues here, are we, Sammy? You're not gonna run, right?”

“N-no, Dean. I won't... run.”

“All right. I don't want to have to put you in chains.”

“I won't run.”

Dean nodded, and opened the front door.

The first blast of fresh air was heaven. The sunlight streaming in was amazing, felt amazing on Sam's skin. Sam stepped towards the doorway, trying to get more of it but afraid to step outside.

“Go on. You're all right.” Dean gave Sam a nudge towards the doorway.

Sam took a step out, his bare foot against the dirt path leading to the bunker door. Another hesitant step, and he was outside, for the first time in... Sam wasn't sure how long, but it felt like forever.

Sam walked carefully over to a patch of soft grass near the bunker entrance. It felt amazing under his feet, springy and green and alive. He dropped to his knees, gripping handfuls of the soft greenness, feeling the sun beating down on his back. It was heaven.

Something about Sam's posture must have set Dean off, because his voice carried a hint of need. “Come on, Sam. Back inside. Time to get fucked.”

Sam froze, fear gripping him, pulled in a breath and took off running like a sprinter, down the path to the road. 

He got maybe thirty feet, before slamming into an invisible, solid wall, face-first. He dropped in agony, blinded by the pain in his face, clutching his broken nose. He heard Dean come up behind him.

“Not gonna run, huh? Fucking liar. Get up.”

Sam staggered to his feet, knowing he was in deep, deep trouble. He peered at Dean through eyes still watering with pain. “Dean... I'm sorry...”

“Shut up.” Dean grabbed his upper arm in the vice-grip he had seen Dean use on Jim. The grip was painfully tight, and Dean pulled him down the path and back into the bunker.

“Please... I... I panicked...” Sam tried to explain.

“Shut. Up.” Dean growled, pulling him down the stairs and through the hallways, back to his cell. 

“Dean...”

Dean stopped, seized Sam by both shoulders, and slammed him back against the wall in the hallway. Sam's head exploded with pain, and he distinctly heard the tiles crack behind his head. At least, he hoped it was the tiles, and not his skull. Although, judging by the pain...

“Sam. I've told you twice. I'm not going to tell you to shut your mouth again.” Sam blinked at Dean, dazed and dizzy. He saw midnight black where there should have been sparkling green. Dean seized his upper arm and dragged him into his cell.

“Kneel, Sam.” Dean forced Sam to his knees in the middle of the cell. He stormed over to Jim, who had his face hidden, and dragged him over to kneel in front of Sam, face to face.

Jim's eyes were wide and terrified.

Dean crouched behind Jim and pulled out a long knife. Dean sank his other hand into the back of Jim's hair, tilting his head up.

Dean slid the knife between the boy's ribs, on the right-hand side. Jim tried to scream. Nothing came out. Dean pulled the knife out. Jim coughed softly, a wet noise, pain and fear in his eyes.

“That's once, you lied to me.” Dean's eyes were black, staring into Sam from behind Jim, who was now being held up by the hand in his hair.

Dean sank the knife to the hilt in the boy's liver. Jim tried to scream, tears pouring down his face, pleading without words for Sam to help him. He coughed wetly again. There was blood on the boy's lips.

“That's twice, you lied to me.” Dean pulled the blade free.

Sam knelt, shocked and horrified, unable to speak.

Dean pulled Jim's head back farther, against his own shoulder. And he wrenched the blade across the boy's throat.

Sam was covered in blood; bright, arterial spray from Jim's carotid, until the pressure dropped enough to pour silently down his chest. Sam watched the light go out of the boy's dark eyes. 

“And that's for running.” Dean let go of Jim's hair, and he toppled to the floor.

Sam choked out a sob. “Cas...” 

“No. Cas isn't saving him. Your friend is dead, and he's staying dead, because of your actions. Understand?”

Tears welled from Sam's eyes. “Y-yes.”

“Now get over on the fucking table. Bend over.” Sam lurched away from Jim's corpse, from Dean. Fortunately, it happened to be in the direction Dean wanted him in. Sam grabbed the edge of the table, pulling himself up to stand in front of it. He was dizzy – he held onto the edge to keep from falling. _No no no no no no no..._

Dean's power grabbed him, turned him to face the table, slammed his upper body against it, spread his legs, and held him there. Sam couldn't move. He lay there hyperventilating.

Dean walked up behind him, so close that Sam could feel the warmth of him even through Dean's jeans. Sam heard Dean's zipper, before he felt a gentle hand come down on his hip. Dean's other hand tapped the plug nestled between Sam's cheeks.

“Better hope you did a good job on the lube, Sammy.” Dean pulled out the plug, and slammed himself into Sam's body.

Sam bit his lip, managed not to cry out and tried to arch off the table at the pain of the intrusion. Sam knew that Dean was big, but this was agony.

Dean's hands gripped Sam's hips hard. “Even with the plug, you're tight, baby boy. So tight. Like you were made for me.” One of Dean's hands left Sam's hip and reached under him to grab his soft cock, pinned between his body and the surface of the table. 

“Come on, don't be like that.” Sam felt Dean's power swirl sickeningly inside him, summoning arousal where there was none. Sam felt himself harden in Dean's grip.

“No, no no no no no no...” Sam whispered. “Please, please, please....”

Dean pulled out, only to slam back in. And Sam seemed to get harder in Dean's grip. Sam dry-heaved once, before Dean clamped down on it and prevented Sam from doing it again.

“Come on, Sammy, you know you want it. Look how hard you are.” Dean stroked Sam's cock in time with his thrusts. Vicious thrusts that were bruising Sam's thighs against the edge of the table. 

“Oh God, please, Dean, no...” Sam clenched his eyes shut.

“I could... ngh... keep you hard forever, you know? Not let you come? Just fuck you and keep you hard. Needy.”

“Don't.. please, don't... I don't want...” Sam whispered through his tears.

Dean's hips stuttered to a stop, and he released deep inside his brother. Sam felt the hot flood of Dean's come.

Sam sobbed, once, before Dean hissed, “Come.” Dean's power forced the orgasm out of Sam, and Sam spurted across his stomach, the table, and Dean's hand. Sam's clenching muscles wrung the last waves of Dean's orgasm from him.

“Fuck, Sammy, you're a good fuck. Knew you'd love it.” Dean squeezed Sam's hip affectionately, over the bruises left by his fingertips. Dean pulled out, and quickly replaced the plug back in Sam's ass. Sam groaned.

“Gotta keep all my come up inside you, baby boy. Remind you who you belong to. You got anything you want to say to me?”

Sam sobbed inconsolably. He had to give Dean an answer. “Th... thank you for...” Another sob forced its was out. “For... using me.”

“Anything else?” Dean's hand tightened a little.

“Th-thank you for...” _No no no no no no._ “The... orgasm.” _That I didn't want, ever, ever. Please. Never again._ Something new broke in Sam, something he didn't know could break. Sam cried a little harder.

“You're welcome, Sammy. And clean this up.” 

Dean carried Jim's corpse with him as he left the room.

Sam slid from the table onto the floor, coming down hard on his sore butt with a groan. The plug moved sickeningly within him. He was so dizzy, another concussion, maybe? And in so much pain with his broken nose. He swiped at the tears on his face and tried to stop crying.

Sam thought he would rather be whipped, be caned, have his throat fucked, and be bound with the barbed wire again – he would do this all, rather than suffer being forced to enjoy his own rape ever again.

 _Not that you'll get a vote,_ supplied his inner voice helpfully.

Sam knew he was covered in Jim's blood. Knew there were puddles of it on the floor. He was too heartsick to care, crawling to his corner and curling up into a ball of misery, under his too-small blanket.

 

*

 

Castiel felt the boy's light flicker and go out. _Dean, what have you done?_ The overwhelming, crushing defeat he felt from Sam worried him intensely.

Dean came in a short time afterwards. He was wiping blood from his hands with a cloth.

Throwing the cloth on the table, Dean spoke. “Let's go, angel.” He moved to unchain Castiel from the wall.

It was a long walk to Sam's cell. Neither man spoke. Dean removed Castiel's collar and shoved him into the cell, slamming the door behind him, leaving him alone with Sam.

_Oh, Sam..._

Sam didn't even look up, when the door slammed. He didn't react at all.

Castiel stepped around the pools of blood and knelt beside his friend. “Sam.” Castiel brushed Sam's hair back from his face, which was spattered with blood. “Sam?”

Sam's eyes flickered open, and a small frown crossed his features. “... Cas?”

“Yes, Sam.” Castiel touched Sam's forehead and sent his healing forth. He felt it mend Sam's skin, his fractured skull and nose, damaged muscles and bruises. But nothing Castiel could do could alleviate Sam's heartache. 

Castiel could smell Dean on Sam, and knew what he had done. Castiel removed Dean's taint from within his brother, removed the dried blood from his skin. Glancing across the room, Castiel removed the blood from the floor, as well.

Sam shivered, breathing a little more deeply. “Where... where's Dean?”

“He brought me here and left, Sam.” Castiel rested a warm hand against Sam's shoulder.

Tears started from Sam's eyes. “Cas, Dean... he...” Sam gulped.

“He killed the innocent. And violated you. I'm sorry, Sam, that this has happened to you.”

Sam's despair nearly choked Castiel. “He was nineteen, Cas, nineteen! And Dean killed him, because I panicked and tried to run!” Sam clutched his head in his hands, tears streaming down his face. “It's my fault that kid died. My fault.”

“Sam.” Castiel's voice was stern. “The death of that boy is no one's fault but Dean's. Dean is to blame here. Not you.”

Sam whimpered. Castiel's words didn't seem to be making an impact. “My fault.”

“No, Sam.” Castiel tried to send a calming energy to Sam, only to have it completely rebuffed in the face of Sam's emotions.

“He...” Sam's face twisted. “He made... he made me want it, Cas.” Sam glanced at the table and away quickly. Castiel saw the evidence of Sam's release against the table, and cleaned it away with a thought.

“No, Sam. You didn't want it.” Castiel's voice was low and earnest, begging Sam to understand. He pulled Sam up and into his arms, holding him tightly. “You didn't want it. Dean used his powers to force reactions within your body, that was all. You had no control, and you didn't want it.”

Sam's arms crept around Castiel, grabbing handfuls of trenchcoat at his back. His forehead dropped to Castiel's shoulder.

“Th-thank you for...”

“No, Sam. No. You don't need to thank me for anything, ever. Dean's not here to make you do it. Please, don't.”

Sam turned his head into Castiel's neck. His voice was muffled. “I'm so sorry for... that he shot you. I'm sorry.”

Castiel lifted a hand to the back of Sam's head. _Poor, wounded soul._ “It's all right, Sam. It was painful, but could not do me fatal harm. Again, it was Dean's doing, not yours. Please, realize...” Castiel sighed. “This is not your fault. This is the demon Dean has become, forcing us against one another. These are Dean's actions, not yours.”

“If I could just follow the rules...”

“Dean's rules are absurd. They're meant to crush you. No sane person could follow these rules.” Castiel sighed again.

Sam sat up a little, lifted his head to look Castiel in the eye. “He... he's got the angel blade, Cas. He could end you, for real. He will, if I don't behave.”

“Worry less for me, Sam, and more for yourself. I beg you. If Dean chooses to destroy me, he will, and it will be beyond your control.” Castiel cupped Sam's face in his hands. “Sam. I know you must do what he wishes. And I know it will be hard, if not impossible. But do not let him crush your spirit.” Castiel moved a hand to Sam's chest, over his heart. “I can feel your spirit waver. Know that we will escape this. We will find a way to cure Dean.”

Sam laughed, a tiny sound. “Is there anything of Dean left in there? Or is it all Mark and Knight of Hell?”

“I am not sure. We will see, when the time comes, what is left of the Righteous Man.” Castiel looked askance at Sam. “If there is nothing left, we will need to imprison or destroy him.”

Sam nodded sadly, and a sob burst from his lips. “I... I want my brother back, Cas. I want this over. I... I don't know how much longer I can take it.”

Castiel pulled Sam close again. “I know, Sam. Try to be strong.” Castiel tried to send some calming energy again, and felt Sam accept some of it this time. Castiel simply held Sam while he cried, for a long time.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch for shifting warning tags, folks.

Dean eventually returned to Sam's cell. 

The comfort and safety Sam felt in Castiel's arms vanished in a cloud of dread. But all Dean did was have a seat in the chair, and watch Castiel hold Sam.

Sam pressed his face into Castiel's neck again, praying nothing horrible was about to happen.

“Is Sammy good, Cas?” Dean asked conversationally.

“Sam will likely never be 'good' again, Dean, thanks to your treatment of him.” Castiel's voice was deliberately low and calm.

“Wasn't asking for a psych evaluation, feathers. I'm assuming you cured him.”

“I fixed his multitude of injuries, yes.” 

“Then move away.”

Sam whimpered softly as Castiel pulled away. He curled into himself and hid his face.

Cas stood, and moved a few feet away from Sam, his eyes on Dean. Dean got up, and fastened the collar around his neck. He pulled Castiel to his knees beside the door.

Dean returned to stand by Sam, and sniffed lightly. He frowned. “Cas...”

“Dean?”

“Cas, I was pretty sure I left something with Sam, and now he no longer seems to have it.”

Sam cringed.

“I'm assuming you're to blame for that, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean, I removed your spend from your br... toy.”

“Don't recall telling you to do that, angel. And don't you ever fucking do it again. Now, I'll just have to replace it.” Dean reached down and sank his hand in the back of Sam's hair, pulling him to his feet.

“Dean, please...” Sam whimpered.

“Get on the table.” Dean whispered into Sam's ear, releasing his hair. 

Sam sagged back against the wall, his hair hanging to cover his face.

“ _Now_ , Sam. Last warning.”

Sam backed away from Dean, down the wall. He moved slowly towards the table, touching it lightly when he reached it. He turned to face it and the tears started to fall.

“Sam, you can bend over that table willingly, or I can break your damned face bending you over it myself.” 

Sam clenched his eyes shut, and lowered himself to bend over the table. He pressed his palms against it, near his head, his cheek against the cool wood.

“Feet.”

Sam thought he would die of embarrassment. He spread his legs farther apart.

Sam could hear the cruel amusement in Dean's voice. “Take the plug out and show me your hole.”

“Dean...” Castiel's voice was dark.

“Shut it, feathers. Sammy?”

Sam's hands trembled against the table. He reached back, fingers slipping on the slick plug, before pulling it out. He placed it on the table and waited.

“Sammy. I told you to show me, show _us_ , your hole. Reach back and spread those cheeks, baby boy.”

Sam turned his head, pressing his forehead against the table. He choked on a sob, before reaching his hands back. He grasped his cheeks, his grip on the right one slipping a little because of the lube from the plug. Sam pulled, to spread them apart.

“Ah, Cas, look at that. Gorgeous. You know how good that's gonna feel around my cock? You want a shot at it?”

Castiel's voice was venomous. “No, Dean, I do not wish to rape Sam.”

“Ah, this isn't rape. It's completely consensual, right, toy?”

“Y-yes, Dean.” Sam's voice was shaking.

“See? He loves it. Watch.” Dean walked to Sam, unzipping himself. Sam tried to brace himself, but still cried out as Dean slammed into him.

Dean groaned and pressed against Sam's ass. “Why... is it consensual, toy?” Dean's hands gripped Sam's hips.

“T-toys... don't get a vote...” Sam whispered, not wanting Cas to hear.

Dean pulled all the way out, admiring Sam's hole, before shoving back in hard. “That's right. What are toys for, Sammy?” Dean set a leisurely pace, pulling out slowly, only to ram back in. Sam whimpered with every thrust.

“Toys are... to be... used...” Sam gasped out between thrusts.

“By...” Dean sunk a hand into the back of Sam's hair and pulled, arching Sam off the table. Sam choked a little at the angle of his neck. Dean gave him a shake. “By _whom??_ ”

“Owners!” Sam whimpered. “Owners.”

“ _Dean!_ ” Castiel interjected.

“ _Cas!!_ ” Dean sounded exasperated. He shoved Sam back down against the table. He took Sam's left hand, and laid it flat, palm down. He drew a knife from his pocket, and slammed it down through Sam's hand, pinning it to the table. 

Sam howled. Dean continued to pound into him. “Kinda busy, Cas!” Sam shuddered, bringing his free hand to cover his left, horrified at the knife protruding from the back. Sobs wracked his body. Dean seemed to enjoy it, crushing his pelvis against Sam's ass one last time and releasing inside him. He pulled out slowly, and shoved the plug back inside Sam.

Dean yanked the blade from Sam's hand and he yelped. He stayed bent over the table, cradling his injured hand. 

“Fucking hell, Cas!” Dean was sheened with sweat from his exertions. His eyes were bright. “I told you to shut up. And you.” Dean cuffed Sam across the back of the head. “You keep that inside all night, until you clean up in the morning. Understood?”

“Y-yes, Dean.”

“And??”

“Thank... you, for u-using me.”

“You're fucking welcome. Next time, I'll gag the damned angel, first.” 

Dean pulled Castiel from the room, muttering under his breath.

 

*

 

Sam stayed bent over the table for a little while, his left hand cradled in his right, his cheek still pressed against the wood.

He wasn't really sure how he felt. Was there, say, a hypothetical limit to how humiliated one person could be? _If there is, I reached it tonight._

It was so hard, so very hard to accept Dean's treatment in front of Castiel. Sam knew, logically, that Castiel wouldn't judge him, wouldn't hold his decisions to obey against him, but the things that Dean had made him do...

Sam shuddered, pushing himself to his feet. The plug shifted within him.

Bathroom. _If I'm earning it, I'm damned well going to use it._

Sam limped to the bathroom, conscious of the pain and plug in his ass. It ached, and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about. He flipped the light on.

Glancing into the mirror, he was surprised to see that he wasn't covered in Jim's blood. Now that he thought about it, the room had been cleaned, too. _Thanks, Cas._

Sam gulped some water from the sink and brushed his teeth. He was mindful of his injured hand – not sure how to treat it in the absence of any medical supplies. _At least it wasn't my right._

Sam was a little disgusted with himself, that he was _grateful_ to Dean for not putting the blade through his dominant hand. He knew how twisted his thinking was becoming, but couldn't seem to stop it. It felt a little like being in shock.

_Is this what it feels like to break?_

Sam turned to the tub, and set it to fill with warm water. He added a squirt of body wash, for some bubbles and the fragrance. He closed his eyes while it filled, enjoying the pleasantly-scented steam.

Once it was full, he lowered himself into it with a groan, laying back so that he was more on his back than on his butt. It felt _amazing_. The tub wasn't big enough for him – not many were- but the water was warm and comforting. He slid down in the tub, knees protruding over the water, and laid his head back, only his face above the water's surface. 

Sam closed his eyes and rested for a while, enjoying the faint sounds of the water against the tub. It was so warm and peaceful, and there was no Dean.

Suddenly, a hand against his throat slammed him to the bottom of the tub. Sam's eyes shot open, and he flailed, splashing water. He could make out Dean's face, grinning down at him. Sam struggled as hard as he could, but Dean held him firmly beneath the water. Sam's hands clamped onto Dean's arm. His air escaped through his nose and mouth.

Sam panicked as Dean didn't let him go. His nails dug into Dean's arm, his legs kicking. Dean hauled him up out of the water – Sam had time for one gasped breath before Dean forced him back under. 

Sam willed his legs to stop kicking, his arms to loosen their grip. He knew he was wasting the oxygen he had. He stared up at Dean. _Gonna drown me, big brother?_ Some small part of Sam thought it wouldn't be a bad way to go.

Dean held him under until his vision began to gray out, before releasing him and sitting back. Sam lurched up from the water, gasping and hacking, wiping water out of his eyes.

Sam coughed himself into silence, keeping his eyes on the rippled surface of the water, watching it still. Dean was silent, watching Sam, and Sam didn't dare speak. 

“Have a nice bath, Sammy?” Dean's voice was perfectly neutral, as if asking about the weather, as if he hadn't just nearly drowned his brother. Dean bent and picked up the mostly-dry cloth from the floor. “Did you wash?”

“N-not yet, Dean. And... it was good. Th-thank you.”

“Let me help.” Dean dipped the washcloth into the water, pressing it between Sam's shoulderblades. Sam sat perfectly still, eyes closed, breathing shallowly as Dean washed him. He stood silently as Dean drained the tub and rinsed him with the showerhead.

Sam was terrified out of his wits, expecting Dean to burst into violence at any moment. But all Dean did was towel him off gently. Dean offered him a hand, to step out of the tub, and Sam took it. Dean walked him back into his cell, a hand on his hip.

“Get some rest, Sam, you're going to need it.” Dean picked up Sam's small blanket and handed it to him. Dean looked thoughtful. “Might have to get you a foam slab, a bigger blanket. You might be on your back for a while. Or maybe your front. I haven't decided.”

Sam's heart froze in terror; he had no idea what Dean was referring to.

Dean gave him a pat on the rump, and left.

 

*

 

Castiel had been praying to his brothers and sisters, trying to find even the smallest hole in the angel-proofing around the bunker, as Dean walked back in.

He was carrying some sort of... electric device. One Castiel had never seen.

Dean seemed a little subdued, not quite his jaunty self. He sat in the chair in front of Castiel.

“Know what this is, angel?” Dean held the handle, and pointed the device at Castiel. He looked at it, and saw, in reversed writing, two capital letters in elegant script: DW. 

Castiel wasn't sure, but he felt an awful foreboding.

“I do not, Dean.”

“It's a brand, Cas. An electric brand.”

 _Oh, god... Sam..._ Castiel felt nausea rise within him.

“Now, you're probably wondering why I'm here, and not off applying this to Sam's skin. I need your input again.”

“My input is this – do not brand your brother.” Castiel's eyes flashed with his grace.

Dean blinked. He turned to the wall, plugging the device in. He watched it for a moment, before turning to the table and picking up a knife. “You know, I was only here to ask you where you thought I should brand Sammy. Now, you get to be the test run.” Dean turned back to Castiel and pulled his tie free. He ran the knife up the front of Castiel's rumpled dress shirt, popping the buttons off. He sliced up the front of his undershirt, and pushed the shirts aside to bare his chest.

“Dean... please, do not do this. To anyone.” Castiel fought to keep his voice calm. 

Dean laid a palm over Castiel's left pec, before moving it to his right. “Here.” Dean nodded. He glanced at the iron. The metal script letters were beginning to glow faintly red.

“Dean, please!” Castiel's voice was imploring.

Dean waited silently, ignoring Castiel, as the letters began to glow a brighter red. Dean unplugged the brand, and walked to Castiel.

“This might hurt a little.” Dean winked, and pressed the brand against Castiel's skin.

Castiel screamed. He smelled the flesh burning, felt the skin blistering.

Dean seemed to hold it there forever before removing it. Castiel sobbed, his head dropping, the pain overwhelming. His eyes saw the perfect script DW seared into his vessel's flesh.

“Nice.” Dean nodded. “Looks good on you. Gonna look even better on Sammy.”

Castiel was in too much pain to even respond.

 

*

 

Sam was too frightened to sleep. He was desperate to know what Dean might be planning. What could Dean _possibly_ do, that would lay him out for days?? What wouldn't Dean just let Castiel heal, so that he could continue to abuse Sam, with no wait time?

Sam's mind whirled, and he was just as confused as ever when Dean returned. He was carrying a foam sleeping mat, and what Sam recognized as the blanket from Sam's own bed. Dean deposited them on the floor, in front of where Sam was sitting. 

“D-Dean...” Sam's voice caught in his throat. “Th-thank you for the mat and the blanket.” Sam paused. “Could... could I ask...”

“You're thinking again, Sammy. What did I say about thinking?”

“D-don't do it.”

“That's right. So stop. What's gonna happen is gonna happen, and you spinnin' the gears in your head 'til smoke comes out your ears ain't gonna help anything.”

“Yes, Dean.” Sam's voice was almost inaudible. “Pl-please, I would appreciate... I'd be very grateful for some food. Please.”

“Not right now, baby boy. What we're gonna do is probably gonna make you vomit, and I'd prefer if you didn't. Maybe after, okay?” Dean's hand touched the top of Sam's head.

Sam's throat seemed to tighten with panic, and his breathing became fast and shallow. _Oh god._ His heart felt as though it would beat out of his chest. Sam shook, feeling faint, gasping for air. The darkness seemed to crawl in from the sides, and Sam blacked out.

Dean stood and watched, impassively, as Sam suffered through his panic attack. He shrugged and got to work.

 

*

 

When Sam came to, he was strapped to the table in his cell. He felt light-headed and disoriented, pulling at the bonds, until he realized his situation. He looked around frantically, but Dean wasn't there.

Sam tried to analyze how he was bound. His arms were pinned to his sides. There was a strap across his shoulders, his ribs, his waist, his hips, and his knees. _Whatever he's doing, he sure doesn't want me moving_ , Sam thought, with a tinge of hysteria.

Dean walked in, a smile on his face, a medical kit in one hand. Sam's eyes were wide with fear. Dean moved to Sam, and put a reassuring hand against his chest – his right pec.

“It's okay. You're going to be all right.” Dean stroked Sam's hair with his other hand.

“D-Dean... please...” Sam's voice broke.

“Shhh.” Dean withdrew a pad of gauze from the kit, doused it in alcohol, and swabbed it across Sam's chest, where he had rested his hand.

Sam whimpered and trembled. _What... what is he doing? A... a tattoo? Please, don't let him tattoo me..._

“Be right back, baby boy.” Dean left, closing the door softly behind him. Sam's terror ratcheted up a few notches.

When Dean returned, Sam saw the red-hot metal glowing on the device in his hands.

 _Oh God, it's a brand, God, please, please, no..._ Sam heard a high-pitched whine escape him. _No, please, please, Dean..._

“Shhhhh.” Dean pressed the brand to Sam's skin.

Sam shrieked and tried to lift off the table. Dean held the brand firmly against him. Sam smelt his own flesh burning, blistering, melting.

Sam was unconscious before Dean lifted the brand.


	14. Chapter 14

Sam woke flat on his back, on the camping pad, on the floor. The blanket had been pulled over him neatly, and folded so that it only came up to his waist.

Sam frowned, uncertain of exactly what had happened, or why he was in so much pain.

His brain slowly came online, and Sam gasped – the brand. He looked down at his chest. Two letters, reddened and scabbed, together roughly three inches wide by two high. Even through the redness the pattern was clear – Dean had branded his initials into Sam's flesh.

Sam's stomach lurched with nausea, and he rolled to his left, seeing the silver bucket placed beside him. He grabbed it, and vomited what little he had in his stomach into it, before falling weakly back against the mat.

Sam stared up at the blank white ceiling. He thought, absurdly, of that kid's movie – Toy Story? With the cowboy toy with “Andy” written on his foot. Sam glanced down at his chest. _At least the font is good._

Sam frowned. _What the hell?_ Why was he thinking about the font, when his brother had _branded_ him?! 

The door opened, and Dean entered, pulling Castiel behind him.

Sam noticed at once that Castiel's shirts had been cut open. The familiar blue tie was missing. As Dean forced Castiel to his knees, close to Sam, his shirt swung open, and Sam saw a matching brand on the angel's flesh. 

Sam grabbed for the bucket, retching again. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, propped up on one arm, and pushed the bucket away. He lowered his eyes to the floor.

“Just thought you might want to know, Sammy, that Cas getting branded? That's not on you, that's on him. That's, like, a first.” Dean chuckled. “A punishment for Cas that you didn't earn for him.”

Sam remained motionless and silent.

Dean shoved Castiel at Sam. “Fix his hand. Only his hand. And if the brand is infected or anything, clean it up.”

Castiel touched Sam's wrist, and the wonderful healing power flowed into him. The wound on Sam's hand healed without a mark. Castiel frowned.

“He's dehydrated, Dean, and malnourished. His healing will be affected by these facts. They will soon begin to compromise his health.”

“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya, _Mom_.” Dean said in a mocking voice. “'Take better care of your toys.' Shut up.” Dean pulled Castiel away. “I'll be back, Sammy.” The two men left.

Sam laid back against the pad. He was kind of amazed at how much better it was than the bare floor – softer and warmer, as though it was capturing his body heat. He was very grateful for it.

Sam pulled the blanket up a little bit higher with a sigh. An actual full-sized blanket, one that he didn't have to curl into a ball to fit under. Sam saw his old blanket discarded against the wall and reached for it, smoothing it out over his new one for a little added warmth. _I wonder, if I asked, if he'd give me my pillow?_ Sam snorted softly.

If he overlooked the agony coming from his right pec, he was more comfortable than he had been since he arrived in the white room. _Maybe this isn't so bad._

Sam sat up with a groan. _Seriously, what the hell?? 'Not so bad'? Dean is torturing me, raping me._ Sam glanced down at his chest, feeling ill again. _Mutilating me._

Surely, there couldn't be anything left of his brother. His brother would never... Sam felt thoughts shift, inside his head. _Dean's... Dean's initials._ Maybe some part of him still was there, maybe some part still cared, still wanted Sam around... 

_Or maybe._ Sam swallowed hard. _Maybe he just wants to prove he... owns me. That_ is _what branding is for, to indicate ownership..._ Sam felt an overwhelming sadness. _He wants me around, all right. To hurt for him._

Sam laid back down on his back, feeling nauseous. Tears slid down the sides of his face, into his hair. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer; _Cas, get us out of this._

Dean banged his way into the room, his arms full of items. A plastic bag, bags of take-out food, a tray with tall cups in it. Sam pushed himself upright, and crossed his legs under the blanket. Dean dropped to sit in front of him and peered critically at Sam's chest. Dean seemed satisfied with what he saw.

He took a tall litre bottle of water from the plastic bag and placed it on the floor before Sam. “Two of these, a day. Fill it at the sink. Understood?” Sam nodded. “And burgers, man.” Dean pulled food from the greasy paper bags, flattening the bag and setting it on top.

Sam didn't move. Dean picked up a burger and put it in Sam's hand. “Eat.”

Sam unwrapped the burger, and took a small bite. Dean was scarfing one down across from him. Dean groaned in pleasure, and Sam shivered – it was the same sound he made when he used Sam.

“God, these are so good.” Dean crumpled the wrapper and picked up a cup, sucking dark cola through a straw. He stuffed a handful of fries into his face. As he chewed, he ran his eyes over his brother, took in the sharper angles of his face, bonier shoulders, more pronounced ribs.

“I guess Cas has a point.” Dean wiped his mouth with a napkin and reached for another burger. “Guess I gotta feed you more than every two or three days, huh?”

Sam said nothing, hesitantly taking a fry. _Ugh._ It was so _greasy_ , he had no idea why Dean liked this sort of food. Sam returned to taking small bites from his burger. 

“You know, you can just ask me for food when you're hungry, right?” Dean said around a mouthful of hamburger. 

Sam found that Dean talking with his mouth full was just as revolting as it always had been. Sam nodded. _Not that you'd give it to me, even if I asked, Dean. Or the price would be too high._ Sam shivered again.

Dean swallowed and took a long drink of his cola. “You know,” Dean said, tipping the cup towards Sam. “I liked you better when you talked more. How come you don't talk any more, Sammy?”

 _Toys don't talk._ Sam recoiled internally from his initial, gut thought. “I... I don't know, Dean.” _I don't want to be hit, or hurt, if I say the wrong thing._

“No, really.” Dean leaned in, his green eyes intent on Sam's. “Tell me.” That icy coolness slipped into Dean's voice, and Sam's heart raced. Sam stared down at his half-eaten burger.

“Don't... don't want to say the wrong thing.” Sam flushed pink.

Dean chuckled. “You do have a habit of saying stupid shit and pissing me off.” Dean took another sip of pop, emptying the cup, and put it down. “Mind you, you've been pretty good about that lately. Good work.” Dean handed the other cup to Sam, who took it and took a sip. _God, the sugar. Revolting._

Sam slowly ate his way through the two burgers, while Dean, who had long since finished his food, watched him thoughtfully, toying with the straw in his empty cup. 

“Yeah. I guess maybe I'll bring you some provisions. You know, leave them here for you, so you can feed yourself if I, like, forget. Not real happy with how skinny you're getting, Sammy. How's that sound to you?” Dean snagged Sam's cup and drank.

“G-good, Dean. Thank you. Thank you for the food.” Sam folded his burger wrappers neatly, but Dean just grabbed the whole mess and shoved it into the plastic bag. Dean stood.

“You know, I expected you to have something to say about the brand.” Dean waited, as if expecting a response.

Sam's brain stuttered to a halt. He panicked, like he did every time he didn't know what Dean wanted to hear. Dean crouched before him.

“I was _expecting_ you to shout or scream, or even take a swing at me.” Dean eyed Sam's limp arms, Sam's hands in his lap. “Tell me how I didn't have the _right_.” Dean slapped Sam's cheek lightly; Sam didn't react, didn't even flinch.

“Do you even _know_ how broken you are, Sam?” Dean's voice had dropped to a whisper. “Thank me for the brand. Thank me for marking you as mine, toy.”

Sam felt a fury surge through him that he hadn't felt in a long time. Before either Sam or Dean knew what was happening, Sam's right hook had laid Dean out on his ass. Dean's hand lifted to his jaw, a look of absolute astonishment on his face. Dean started to laugh, and Sam froze in terror.

“Nice one, man!!” Dean rubbed his jaw. “You have no fucking idea, the trouble you're in for that, but damn, that was a pretty good shot.” Dean stood, still chuckling, and left the room. 

Sam's heart raced in his chest. His fingers brushed across the knuckles that had impacted Dean's jaw. It had felt good, really good, but Sam was terrified of what it was going to cost.

 

*

 

Dean was chuckling when he entered Castiel's prison.

Castiel glanced at him, and saw the red mark on Dean's jaw. Dean saw Castiel see it.

“Sammy hit me, Cas. He actually _hit_ me! I guess he's not as broken as I'd have liked to think.” Dean had a seat in the chair, running his fingertips against his jaw. “I fed him, by the way. And gave him instructions to drink water. Does that meet your approval?”

“Please... do not punish Sam for lashing out at you...” Castiel scrambled to find a reason for Dean to not take his anger out on Sam.

“Why, Cas? Why would I not punish him?” Dean lifted an eyebrow. “Should I just give him the message, 'Hey, go around throwing punches whenever you like, it's all good!'” Dean grinned. “Nah, I think I know just the thing to teach Sammy not to use his fists against me.”

“Dean, please...”

“Cas, don't you _ever_ get tired of begging? I'm gonna start cutting Sam for every time you beg me not to hurt him.” Dean looked irritated.

Castiel shut his mouth.

Dean left the room.

 

*

 

True to his word, Dean brought some supplies to Sam's cell. There were half a dozen apples, a large bag of granola, and a box of protein bars. Dean set it all on the table, along with a few wide, flat bowls. 

Sam was still deeply worried about what Dean's punishment would be for hitting him, but Dean showed no indication of what it might be.

The only peculiar thing that Dean did was bring a measuring tape to his cell, and measure across his shoulders and the length of his arms. Sam sat very still while Dean did this, mind whirling with what it could possibly be for.

Sam's anxiety grew every day that Dean didn't punish him. Sam thought surely, that if he had punished Castiel instead, Dean would have shown or told him about it. But there was nothing.

Dean came quite regularly to Sam's cell, bearing food and the occasional treat. Sam wasn't forced to dip into his store of supplies too heavily. Dean replaced the fruit as Sam ate it. One time he even brought peaches, sweet and succulent in Sam's mouth.

But Dean didn't approach Sam sexually, or in any other way. Mostly, the two men sat silently as Sam ate, Dean occasionally eating with him. Sam began to regain a little of his strength, and the brand began to heal.

The crusty red scabs fell away, leaving a bright red, tender scar. Sam could touch it, wash it, without too much pain, but he spent most of his time pretending he wasn't labelled as Dean's personal property.

It was exhausting, waiting for the boot to drop, until one day, it did.

Dean came in, carrying a glossy white shopping bag. A big one.

“Sam, go use the washroom. Wash your hands and your arms, up to the shoulder. Dry them real good.” Dean sat in the chair, with the bag between his feet on the floor.

Sam climbed to his feet nervously, and did as Dean had asked, breathing shallowly as he scrubbed the water from his skin. He returned to his cell, to find Dean setting out the three bowls on the table, slicing an apple into cubes with a small knife, and dropping the cubed apple into the bowl on the far right. “Kneel.” Dean gestured with the knife to the spot in front of his chair.

Sam knelt, watching as Dean poured a substantial amount of granola into the bowl on the left. Dean pulled apart some of the protein bars into chunks, dropping them into the bowl in the middle. He took a moment to line the three bowls up neatly, in the middle of the table. Dean walked to the bathroom, and turned the cold water faucet on, leaving it to run at a little more than a trickle.

Sam was frightened and tremendously confused. What was Dean _doing??_ Sam couldn't see what was in the bag, as the contents were covered by a piece of white tissue paper.

“All right. Up you get.” Dean stood and put the bag on the table. Sam got shakily to his feet. Dean grabbed Sam by the hips, and spun him to face away from him.

“Arms behind your back, Sam.” Sam threaded his fingers together behind his back.

Sam heard the tissue paper and the bag rustle. Something touched his skin – it felt like leather. Sam jolted.

“Be still.” Dean chided. “This isn't going to hurt.”

Sam felt Dean slide something, definitely leather, up his arms, until they were nearly entirely encased, forcing them straight, with a little room in some sort of... leather pouch for Sam to wiggle his fingers. Sam tried to twist his head to see, only to see Dean very close by, fastening a strap from beneath Sam's left armpit to over Sam's shoulder, attaching it some way to the leather encasing his arms. Dean did the same on Sam's right shoulder.

Then Sam heard the sound of laces through metal grommets, and the leather against his arms started to become more snug. Not tight, not exactly, but a little snug. Sam tried, and could barely move his arms. Dean seemed to be finished with his adjustments.

Sam breathed shallowly and quickly. Dean spoke. “Know what this is, Sammy?”

“N-no, Dean...”

“It's an arm binder. Go ahead and turn around and kneel again.” Sam turned, a little off balance, and awkwardly lowered himself to his knees. Dean had taken a seat back in the chair, and Sam was between his legs.

“Here's how this is going to go. How long you stay in this is entirely up to you. I'll come by, once a day, and help you in the washroom. You can eat from the bowls, whenever you like. Drink from the faucet in the bathroom. Keep your water intake high. Clear?”

“D-Dean...” Sam swallowed. “W-what...”

“This is happening, Sammy, because you clearly don't understand what your arms are for. Are your arms for hitting your _owner_ , Sammy?”

“N-no, Dean, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry...”

Dean tucked Sam's hair back behind his ear. “Oh, you're gonna be sorry, baby boy. So very, very sorry. And when I think you're sorry enough, I'll think about letting you go. Understood?”

Sam quivered, “Dean...”

Dean's hand shot out and slapped Sam hard across the cheek. Sam nearly fell.

“I said, 'Understood?'.”

“Y-yes, Dean, I understand.” Sam didn't dare say more.

“You should be grateful. Those bigass shoulders of yours wouldn't have fit if I hadn't had this custom-made. I could've just forced you into a smaller one. This cost a lot, Sam.” Dean gripped Sam's shoulder, the strap running under Dean's palm.

“T-thank you for...” Sam gulped. “For having one made... that fits. Thank you.” Sam could feel the muscles in his chest stretching a little; the binder pulled his shoulders back just a touch.

“You're welcome.” Dean placed his hand over Sam's brand. Sam flinched a little, before stilling himself. Dean trailed his fingers across the raised scars as he stood. “Up.”

Sam struggled to his feet. “Eat.” Dean gestured toward the bowls.

 _How??_ Sam stood baffled for a moment, before he figured out he'd have to bend at the waist, and carefully lower himself to the table so that his face was over a bowl.

Sam chose the apple. He positioned himself carefully and bent, hissing a breath out through his teeth as the scar pressed against the tabletop. Sam opened his mouth over the bowl, and grabbed a piece of apple with his teeth. He chewed and swallowed.

“There you go, you've got it.” Dean stroked a hand over Sam's hip, over the curve of his ass. Dean's fingers brushed the plug. “Have a little more.”

Sam reached for another piece of apple as Dean slid the plug out. Sam gasped around the piece of apple in his mouth. He heard Dean's zipper. “I'll even help you with this, baby boy. I'll keep you clean and lubed and prepped for me.” Dean slid his cock into Sam's hole, slowly, with a groan.

Sam nearly choked on his apple. He flushed solid red. _Oh, God, please, no._ It was humiliating enough to have to do it himself, but to have _Dean_ doing it every morning?

Sam's voice caught on a sob. “Dean, pl-please, no...” 

Dean thrust into Sam slowly. “Well, Sammy, you could've continued doing it for yourself, except you lost the privilege of using your hands. Are you ever going to raise a hand to me again, Sam?” 

Sam panted as the force of Dean's thrusts increased. “No, no, never, Dean... I'm so sorry...” Sam whimpered.

“Ah, baby boy, I wish I was convinced.” Dean's thrusts turned brutal, sliding Sam forward on the table, ramming Sam's thighs against the edge. Dean was silent until he groaned, coming in Sam's ass. Dean replaced the plug once he was finished.

Dean pulled him up by the binder, repositioning the bowl of apple and Sam over it. “Finish your apple, Sam.” Sam saw Dean reach for another, picking up his small knife and cubing it. Sam finished his apple miserably, chasing pieces across the bottom with his tongue and up the side of the bowl, catching them with his teeth. Sam stared down into the empty bowl as Dean tipped more apple into it.

“Good toy. Need more food before bed?” Sam shook his head. Dean helped Sam stand, moved him back to his mat, and lowered him onto it. Sam laid down on his side, his arm torqued uncomfortably beneath him. Dean pulled up the blanket, tucking it around Sam. His fingers brushed Sam's brand again.

“Night, Sammy.” And Sam's heart broke – it was what Dean had been saying to him his entire life.

Dean left as Sam's tears began to fall.


	15. Chapter 15

Sam woke in agony, still against the shoulder he laid down on. He was half-convinced he had dislocated it, and struggled into a sitting position, breathing heavily. He managed to roll the shoulder a little – it was definitely still in joint, but the pain was astonishing. 

Sam hunched forward, feeling the muscles in his chest and shoulders strain against the binder. It really didn't allow much movement. He shifted his arms, feeling pins and needles diminish as he encouraged the blood flow.

Clearly, that side-sleeping position wasn't going to work. How the hell was he supposed to sleep? He couldn't sleep on his stomach because of the brand, nor on his back... Sam sighed. 

He thought briefly about sleep deprivation as an “enhanced interrogation technique”.

Sam was dying just to be able to stretch. He could see the need becoming desperate – eventually. How long was Dean going to leave him like this? And what did Sam need to do, to convince Dean of how sorry he was??

Sam wasn't sure exactly what this punishment was supposed to be about. Mostly, Dean's punishments had either been pain or humiliation. Sam rolled his shoulders again. He suspected that this might be both. And he suspected it might become a whole lot worse than it seemed.

Definitely, come first thing tomorrow morning, it was going to be about humiliation. Sam flushed red just _thinking_ about what was coming.

Eventually, Sam knelt and nudged his sleeping pad into the corner of the room. He sat, propped up in the corner, his legs stretched out before him, his arms wedged behind. He tried to get the blanket back over him, and failed miserably.

Sam managed to get a little more cold, uncomfortable, stiff-armed sleep, before Dean came in. He jolted awake when the door banged open.

“Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey!!” Dean was all smiles. He carried a plate and a mug with him. Sam couldn't see it, but he could _smell_ the food on it. Honest to God, coffee, bacon and eggs – Dean wasn't kidding. Sam's mouth watered.

Dean pulled the chair to the end of the table, before sitting with the plate before him. “Well? Get up. Eat.” Dean sipped his coffee and gestured to the bowls.

Sam's stomach soured. He flushed and looked at the floor.

“Sam.” Unmistakable warning.

Sam managed to get to his feet. He walked slowly to the table, and heard Dean snap a piece of crisp bacon between his teeth. He glanced at Dean's plate – eggs over easy, toast, bacon. He looked sadly at his own choices – the granola, protein bar pieces, and badly-browned apple.

“Jesus, Sam, the puppy dog eyes. No, I'm not giving you my food. Eat. Now.”

Sam decided on the granola. He bent carefully, positioning his face over the bowl, before wincing as his chest hit the table. It was absolutely humiliating, to eat this way, while Dean sat three feet away, eating his eggs and bacon with a knife and fork. Sam opened his mouth, licking some of the crumbly grains into it. It was bone-dry, and bland, and 100% not eggs and bacon. Sam sighed.

“Sammy, how about, instead of bitching about the food I give you, you fucking eat it and be grateful?” Dean's patience was clearly a little thin this morning.

Sam licked crumbs from his lips. “I... I'm sorry, Dean. Thank you for the food.” He returned to eating mouthfuls of the dry mixture. Very shortly, it became difficult to swallow. Sam stood. Dean simply watched him, still crunching bacon.

Sam moved to the bathroom, before he realized how he was going to be forced to drink. He froze for a moment in the middle of the room.

“Go get your water, Sammy.” Dean spoke around a mouthful of eggs.

Sam swallowed hard, and went into the bathroom. He had to angle himself across the countertop and twist his head to get his mouth to the slow stream of water. It seemed to take forever to drink, and he became aware of Dean watching from the doorway. Sam felt his skin heat.

When Sam stood, Dean spoke. “Do you need more food, Sammy, or are you ready to get started?”

Sam blushed furiously. “Pl-please, Dean, could I... could I please have it off? I can... do this, by myself. Please.” 

Dean simply stared. A slight smile quirked his lip. “What would possess you to think that I'd agree to that? Have you done _anything_ to convince me that you're sorry?”

Sam whispered. “No.”

“Exactly. No. So get in the tub.” Dean grabbed the nozzle from the cupboard, and hooked it up. 

Sam climbed in, and Dean positioned him with hands on Sam's body. Legs spread farther than shoulder width apart, bent over nearly double. Sam had never felt so exposed in his life.

Dean chuckled. “How long do you think it's going to take for me to fuck that blush out of you, Sammy?”

Sam clenched his eyes shut, and tried to block out what was happening.

Dean gently removed Sam's plug and set it aside. He inserted the nozzle, and turned on the water.

 _Cold, it was ice cold._ Sam tried to stand, tried to move away from the freezing water and hated nozzle. Dean grabbed him by the back of the neck, forcing him back into position. Sam whimpered.

Sam started to panic as Dean left the water on far, far longer than Sam normally did. He felt awful cramps, and seemed to slosh when he moved. “D-dean... please...”

“Come on, Sammy, you can take a little more.” Dean moved his hand to Sam's lower back, stroking soothingly. Sam whimpered as another round of cramps struck him.

Dean left the water on for a few more moments, and then turned it off. Sam was shaking. Dean reinserted the plug and Sam groaned – that was _not_ part of Sam's daily routine...

“Think of this as a deep cleanse. You can hold it, can't you? Of course you can.” Dean's hand was warm against Sam's skin.

“Pl-please...” Sam shifted a little.

“Stay still.” Dean's hand smacked Sam's ass, hard. Sam flinched.

“D-dean! Please, please...” The pain in Sam's gut was terrible.

“Got anything to say, Sammy, that _isn't_ begging? Between you and Cas, it's all I hear.”

“I... I'm sorry, Dean, I'm so sorry.” Tears started from Sam's eyes. “So sorry...”

“Mmm hmm.” Dean returned to rubbing Sam's lower back.

“Please, Dean, it hurts!! Please... I'm sorry... I'm sorry I h-hit you, so sorry...”

“Just a little longer. Be quiet, now.” 

Sam choked on his own apologies, tears falling into the tub. His shoulders ached, his arms ached, and he'd never been so humiliated as he was right now.

Sickeningly, Dean didn't seem to even notice, keeping up his gentle circles on Sam's back.

Sam wasn't certain how much time passed, but it was enough time to make his degradation feel complete.

“All right, Sammy.” Dean gently removed the plug, and helped Sammy over to the toilet. Dean turned and left the bathroom.

 _Thank God._ Sam hung his head, tears drying on his face.

He was mortified as Dean came back in afterwards, stood him in the tub again, and cleaned him from the waist down. Sam was bent over and shivering as Dean worked fingers and lube inside him, and reseated the cleaned plug.

“There you go, Sammy, ready for your day.” Dean stood him up and dried him roughly with a towel.

Sam was silent, speechless with his own abasement. He wasn't sure he would ever want to talk again. It took him a moment to realize Dean was staring at him, clearly expecting something.

“Th-thank you, Dean.” Sam whispered. “For... for helping me.” He added in a rush, “I'm sorry, so sorry I hit you.”

“Come.” Dean led Sam back into his cell, and put him on his knees before Dean's chair. Sam sat back on his heels. Dean leaned forward, and watched him.

Dean sighed. “You know, Sammy, you haven't been a particularly good toy to me. You realize this, right?”

“Y-yes. I'm so sorry. So sorry.”

“You're not grateful. You're not obedient. And you show absolutely zero _initiative_.” Dean paused, to let his words sink in.

Sam leaned back a few inches. _Initiative? What the hell does that mean?_

“There you go, with that whole thinking thing again.” Dean shook his head and smiled.

Sam dropped his head and stared at the floor. He didn't think that Dean wanted him to apologize endlessly, he thought Dean wanted something else...

Ice shot up Sam's spine. _It's not enough to just accept being raped, he wants... he wants me to..._

Sam lurched to his feet, bolted to the bathroom, and barely made it before vomiting his entire breakfast. He knelt before the toilet, shivering.

Sam felt Dean's hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, that big old brain of yours, you figured it out. Don't _tell_ me how sorry you are... _show_ me.” Dean helped Sam to the sink, to rinse his mouth.

Dean led him back to his spot, before Dean's chair. Sam knelt with his head down. Dean sat back in his chair, watching him.

Somehow, Sam found that his mantra of, _Just words, just words, it's just words..._ wasn't helping. At all. Sam's breathing was shallow, and he couldn't speak.

“Keeping me waiting isn't polite, and it's not going to get you out of that any faster, baby boy.” Dean's grin was sharp. “Show me how sorry you are. How _happy_ you are to be my toy. Show me your gratitude.”

Sam hunched over, in his spot on the floor. _I can't, I can't..._ Dean put his boot on Sam's shoulder, and pushed him upright. Sam kept his gaze down – he couldn't look his brother in the eye.

Dean's hand gripped Sam's chin hard enough to bruise, and pulled his head upwards. Sam's eyes went wide – Dean's eyes were black. “You've got five seconds, Sammy, before I beat you unconscious and go and rape the angel.”

Sam's voice seemed to unlock. “Pl-please let me suck your cock. Dean. Please.”

Dean quirked an eyebrow and smiled. “How _much_ do you want my cock, Sammy?”

Sam forced the words out, his throat tight. “V-very much, Dean. Please.”

“And how happy are you, to be my toy, baby?” Dean ran his fingertips over Sam's brand.

Sam's voice seemed to vanish entirely. He couldn't say it, he couldn't.

Dean let go of his jaw and viciously backhanded Sam across the face. Sam reeled, falling to the side.

Dean pulled him back up by the straps on the arm binder. Sam gasped, dazed, as his shoulders were wrenched.

Sam looked through teary eyes at his brother. His eyes were still black, and his mouth twisted with anger. “I... I can't, Dean, please.”

Dean clamped hand over Sam's mouth. “You're going to say it. You clearly still don't understand what you are to me. I think, maybe, that calling me 'Sir' might help you a little.”

 _Sir? Seriously?_ Sam frowned.

“And you know why you're going to be calling me Sir, Sammy?” Dean's eyes narrowed, as if he was focusing hard. “It's because you won't remember my name.”

 _That's ridiculous._ Sam shook his head. Sam would always remember his brother's name. Forever. It might as well be tattooed on his heart. His brother... 

Sam's eyes widened in horror. _My brother... ... oh, God..._ There was a blank in his mind, where the name had been. The name of the most important person in the world to him.

Dean smirked. “It's Dean. But you're not going to remember, are you?”

 _Dean! That was it! Wait..._ The name vanished from Sam's mind again, and he felt the loss all over again. He lowered his head.

Dean grabbed a handful of Sam's hair, and pulled his face up to Dean's own. “So. You can call me, 'Sir.' Understood?”

“Y-yes.”

“And what should I call you, baby boy?” Dean's hand touched Sam's cheek. “I don't think you need your name, either, do you?”

“P-please...” _Sam, he was Sam. Sam Winchester. John and Mary's youngest. Sam._

Sam felt the knowledge of his own name slip through his fingers like water. His breath hitched in his chest. _Please, no..._

“So.” Dean's hand tightened in Sam's hair. “I'm Sir, and you... you're Toy. Clear?”

Sam whimpered. “Y... yes.”

“'Yes, _Sir_.'”

“Y-yes, S-sir.”

 _Hunter, he was a hunter._ Saving people, hunting things, the family business... _What family?? Family was everything... Sir... Sir was his brother..._

Dean released Sam's hair and leaned back in the chair. “Now. Toy. I asked you a question earlier. I keep you safe. I keep you warm, and fed, and use you as you need to be used. I even bathe you, keep you clean and ready for me. It's a dangerous world out there, and all you ever have to worry about again are three simple rules. So tell me, how happy are you, to be my toy?”

 _That... that's not right. I don't need to used, I don't want to be used. I... I don't know my name, but it's not Toy._ Sam shook his head silently.

“Hey, sport, do you remember Castiel?”

 _Cas! Oh God, Cas..._ Sam's blood froze in his veins. _Obedience... or... Sir would hurt Castiel..._

“I see you do. Now. You can tell me how happy you are to be my toy, or I can go get the nailgun from the workshop, and together, we can see how many it takes to make the angel cry. Maybe I'll even let you put a few into him.”

 _Cas._ “I... I'm v-very happy to be your toy, S-sir.” Some part of Sam shattered.

“I'm glad. And disappointed that I had to ask you so many times.” Dean stood in front of Sam. “Get up.”

Sam struggled to his feet. Dean turned him to face away, and Sam felt Dean's hands on the binder.

Suddenly, it got a whole lot tighter, yanking his shoulders back, and Sam yelped. Dean ignored him, and tightened it so much that Sam's arms were already aching, and there was no way he could move them.

Dean spun Sam to face him, and forced him to his knees. Dean undid his belt, and popped the button on his jeans. “Show me how happy you are to be mine.”

Sam swallowed every ounce of his remaining pride, leaned in, and pulled his brother's zipper down with his teeth. He nosed at the opening, trying to push the fabric back, without a lot of success. Sam used his lips, his tongue, to try to extricate Dean's cock from the denim, but couldn't quite manage. Sam looked up at Dean, to find Dean watching him, breathing a little heavily, clearly enjoying Sam's attempts.

“P-please, Sir... I can't...”

“I'll help you, baby boy. I'll always help you.” Dean freed his cock, wet and shiny at the tip, from his jeans.

Sam took Dean into his mouth, awkward without the use of his hands, which were numb behind him. Sam clenched his eyes shut, and felt Dean's hands on the back of his head.

“Open your throat.” Sam tried his best to relax his throat, as Dean forced his cock down it with a groan.

Dean was quick and brutal, bruising Sam's lips, and leaving him with a mouthful of come. Tears trailed down Sam's cheeks as he sat with his mouth open. 

Dean gave the order to swallow, and Sam did. “P-please, Sir...”

Dean frowned. “Shouldn't gratitude come before begging?”

“Thank you, Sir, for u-using me. Please, Sir...” Sam shifted his shoulders and groaned in pain. “M-my arms...”

“I know, baby. But you hit me.” Dean knelt before Sam, face to face. Dean's eyes were very green. Dean's hand cupped Sam's tear-streaked cheek.

Sam sobbed, staring into his brother's eyes. “I'm so sorry... so sorry.”

“I know.” Dean brushed Sam's hair back from his eyes. “And you're almost sorry enough.”

Sam's heart plummeted, as his brother left the room.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks.
> 
> Thanks so much for your wonderful comments and feedback. You guys are what really inspire me to churn this story out.
> 
> And as thanks, this chapter has roughly 30% more Sammy whumpage (or words, at least) than most of my other chapters.
> 
> Thanks again, guys, y'all are awesome. <3

Sam stayed, kneeling, where he had serviced his brother.

 _Initiative. Was that what it was going to take to get out of this?_ One of Sam's shoulders twitched and he shuddered in pain. It was constant, the ache and burn from his arms, and forced tears from his eyes without Sam even crying.

Sam made his way towards the door, on his knees. He knelt just before it, back straight, head down, prepared to beg Sir to use him when he returned.

 

*

 

“Cas. What do you think it would feel like, to lose your own name?” Dean sat in the chair and watched the angel chained to the wall.

Castiel frowned. “A human is defined by his sense of self, Dean.”

Dean nodded. “I took Sam's name away. And he doesn't know mine, either, just that he's my brother.”

Castiel looked blankly shocked. “Dean. Please restore...”

“That's one for Sammy's skin, Cas.”

“If... if you do this...” Castiel was stunned that Dean would dehumanize his brother in this manner. Castiel stopped speaking.

“That's two that Sammy's getting carved into him. The second's just on principle. Now, let's go see how the nameless boy wonder's doing, shall we?”

 

*

 

Sam was staring down at his chest. _DW_ His brother, Sir, was “DW”. Who was DW? Did... did that mean his own last name started with a W, as well? That would make sense...

The door opened, and Sam immediately began speaking.

“Please, please use me, Sir. Please.” Sam tilted his head up, his eyes and mouth open.

It wasn't Sir, it was _Cas_.

Dean stood behind Cas, in the hall, grinning over Cas's shoulder at Sam.

Sam recoiled, blushing furiously, and Cas dropped to his knees with a soft groan. “Sam...”

Sam's eyes lit up and he smiled at Castiel. _I'm Sam! Sam..._ As Sam struggled to find his last name, he lost his first, and the light faded from his eyes. Sam lowered his head, his eyes filling with tears.

“I'm so sorry...” Castiel looked ineffably sad.

Castiel rounded on Dean. “Stop this. This is unnecessarily cruel. Please.”

“That's three, Cas. Should I give them to him now?” Dean pulled a small knife from his pocket and flicked it open.

 _Three?! Three what??_ Sam slipped onto his butt, and tried to scoot back, away from Cas and Sir.

“You runnin', baby boy?”

Sam froze. “N-no, Sir.”

Castiel sighed softly.

Dean walked to Sam and pulled him back to his knees. Dean crouched beside him, and placed the point of his knife against the meat of Sam's shoulder. It was very sharp, and a droplet of blood welled up. Dean pulled the blade down Sam's arm about two inches, parting his skin. Sam clenched his teeth and trembled.

 _”Dean...”_ Cas's voice was pleading.

 _Dean!_ Sam sagged in relief. _Of course, my brother's name is..._ Sam lost the name, and stiffened.

“Four, angel.” Dean moved the blade, made another deep cut right beside the first. 

_Please, Cas, shut up, shut up, shut up..._ Sam thought frantically. A groan slipped from his lips as Dean did the third. Sam felt the blood trickling down his arm to the top of the binder. The fourth drew a pained cry from him. Sam's shoulder twitched, pulling his arm against the binder. The pain from Sam's arms _completely_ eclipsed the pain from his cuts and Sam hissed between his teeth.

“Sorry about that, toy.” Dean stood. “Cas here just wouldn't quit begging me to stop hurting you, so I figured maybe helping him keep track of how many times he's done it might help... curb the urge.”

Sam trembled and looked at Castiel, his eyes wide and full of tears. Castiel's eyes were so sad, so apologetic.

“If he keeps it up, you'll have a barcode.” Dean grinned down at Sam. “Wonder what your barcode'd be for – 'One toy, broken, highly disobedient, completely ungrateful.'” Dean's voice dropped into cold disapproval as he finished the sentence.

Sam dropped his gaze, flushing crimson.

“Still want Cas to use you, toy?”

“N-no! No, please. Only y-you, Sir. Only you. Please. Please... use me.”

“I'm not in the mood for your mouth, toy. How would you like me to use you?”

Sam broke, the pain overwhelming him. “P-please, Sir... my arms...” Sam shivered, and groaned as his shoulders shifted. He hunched over, sobbing. “Please... I'm so sorry, so sorry...”

Castiel gasped as he saw how tightly Sam was bound.

Dean raised an eyebrow at Castiel, as if daring him to say something.

“Maybe in a bit, toy. I asked you a question.” Dean stared down at Sam, kneeling at his feet. Sam shivered and sobbed, unable to respond.

Dean's foot snapped out, kicking Sam hard in the thigh, and Sam cried out. “I _asked_ ,” Dean's next kick was to Sam's ribs, and Sam's breath was knocked from him as he felt ribs snap. “You a _question_ , toy.” Sam fell to his side, his shoulder wrenching hard, and felt the sickening pop as it dislocated. Sam screamed.

 _“Dean!”_ Castiel threw himself at Dean, a full-body tackle, and knocked Dean to the ground, away from Sam.

Dean was absolutely shocked for a moment, before his eyes flickered black, and he grabbed Castiel by the throat. He dragged the angel off of him, pinning him to the floor by the neck. Castiel, his powers bound, was no match for Dean's superior strength. Castiel choked against Dean's grip.

“That was foolish, feathers. You have no idea.” Dean leaned right into Castiel's face. A twisted smile spread, as Dean flipped Castiel over onto his stomach, and hog-tied him with his loose chains. Castiel writhed, seeking escape. Dean dragged him to the corner, and put him on his knees.

Sam watched it happen, though his vision seemed to be dimming a little. He breathed shallowly. Everything hurt – everything. He noted, with a little hysteria, that the pressure on his right shoulder had lessened slightly, now that the left was out of socket. Which was a horrific, continuous, burning pain. Ribs... definitely broken...

Dean finished with Castiel, giving him one last smack upside the head. Castiel's head turned to follow Dean's movement, as he approached Sam.

Sam's eyes followed Dean as he drew near. _Please, please, just let me pass out..._ But unconsciousness was shoved away from him again, and his vision cleared. Sam whimpered with the loss. He lifted his eyes to Dean's midnight black ones, fearfully, before lowering his gaze.

“Crazy fucking angel, man. That'll teach me not to refasten his chains when we get here. And here, I thought he _cared_ more for you than to pull a stunt like that. Guess he doesn't.” Dean shot Castiel a meaningful look. Castiel shot daggers at Dean.

 _He... he does. Cas cares for me..._ Sam laid utterly still, where he had fallen under Dean's blows.

Dean bent and slipped his hands under Sam's armpits, pulling him to his feet. Sam shrieked as his dislocated arm moved and his broken ribs ground together. Dean walked him to the table, and threw him, carelessly, face-down against it. The bowls rattled and spilled. Sam choked out a long, sobbing groan. He was bent at the waist, in the position Dean liked to use him. His brand ached against the table.

“One last time, toy.” Dean rested his hand against Sam's lower back. _”How would you like me to use you?”_

Sam tried to gather his scattered thoughts; they ran and slid away from him, like fine beads of mercury. It was hard to focus, so hard... Sam tried to figure out what Dean wanted to hear.

Sam apparently took too long thinking, and was rewarded with a vicious smack of Dean's hand across his ass. Sam groaned again, as _everything_ was jarred, his shoulder, his ribs...

Sam took a moment to try to catch his breath...

Dean snarled, grabbed Sam by the hair, and slammed his cheek against the table. Sam distinctly felt his cheekbone break, his cry stifled as he clamped his mouth shut. His consciousness wavered again, before coming back into sharp focus.

Castiel, hearing the bone break, moaned softly from the corner.

“Toy.” Dean's voice was soft. “If I don't want to use your mouth, then what do you offer me?” Sam heard the soft sound of Dean's zipper.

 _The only other thing I have to offer..._ Sam choked, his head twisted to the side. “M-my... my ass, S-sir...”

“Anatomically, you're right. But that wasn't phrased very invitingly, was it? Where's all the eagerness and enthusiasm you showed when we came in?”

 _I begged Cas to... use me._ “P-please use my... my ass, Sir, p-please...” Sam could feel his cheek and his left eye swelling.

“Try this. 'Please fuck my pretty little hole hard, Sir.'” Dean winked over at Castiel.

Sam sobbed, and prayed for unconsciousness. “P-please f-fuck my...” Sam had to force the words out. “P-pretty little h-hole... h-hard, Sir...”

“I can do that for you, toy.” Dean ripped out Sam's plug and slammed into Sam.

Sam groaned. He found that if he just... didn't focus on it, the pain was the sensory equivalent of white noise. He floated for a while, as Dean abused his hole. He thought about better days, hot sunshine, sitting at his brother's side in the Impala. He stared blankly at the wall, his mouth a little bit open.

“Checking out, baby boy?” Sam's safe, warm spot evaporated, and every bit of pain in his body seemed to slam into him at once. Sam sobbed, and tears poured down his face. He felt something hot trickle down the inside of his leg.

Dean groaned, and came inside his brother. He pulled out, and watched the blood and come drip out.

“Good toy.” Dean ruffled Sam's hair and threw a glance at Castiel.

Castiel was looking traumatized and sickened by what he had witnessed.

Dean walked to Castiel, and unchained him. He made sure Castiel's collar was as tight as ever, keeping his powers blocked. He crouched before Castiel.

“Now, see, here would normally be the part where I send you to Sam to heal him. However, you had a pretty serious lapse of judgment a bit earlier. So now, you can stay with Sam and watch him suffer. And do nothing.”

Dean ruffled Castiel's hair, too, before leaving the room.

 

*

 

Castiel stood shakily, and moved to his friend. Sam was perfectly still, where Dean had left him on the table. His lips were moving, but nothing was coming out. Castiel's hands hovered tentatively over Sam's skin. He decided, first and foremost, to remove the arm binder.

“Hey, hey...” Castiel was hesitant to use Sam's name, after watching Sam's heart break the last time. “You're okay. You're okay, he's gone. It's just me. It's Castiel. I would never hurt you.” Castiel hoped Sam could recognize his voice. He touched the back of Sam's neck gently. “I'm going to remove this arm binder, okay? And then we'll fix your shoulder.”

Castiel tried his best to be gentle, so gentle with the laces on the binder, but couldn't avoid occasionally jostling Sam's arms. There was no response from Sam, which worried him more than anything else. He probed for what Sam was feeling, and all he got was... whiteness.

Castiel eased the stiff leather from Sam's arms. He placed the uninjured one, with the cuts on the shoulder crusted in drying blood, on the table in front of Sam's face. Sam's lips had stopped moving, but his gaze was wide-eyed and perfectly blank, his left eye swollen nearly completely shut.

“Stand for me, please.” Castiel pinned Sam's injured arm against his back, and felt a little ill at the speed with which Sam attempted to comply.

“I'm sorry, so sorry, but this will only hurt for a little while, and then it's going to feel better, I promise.” Castiel held one hand on Sam's chest, and the other on his shoulder, before snapping it back into joint.

Sam whimpered and collapsed. Castiel caught him on the way down and eased him to the floor.

Castiel quickly got Sam's sleeping pad and blanket, and shifted Sam onto it, covering him securely. Sam blinked rapidly, and a tiny frown crossed his forehead.

“C-Cas?” Sam sounded confused.

“Yes, it's me. Everything is okay. De... your brother has left us. You're going to be all right.”

“Cas, what...” Sam looked down at his arms, lying on the blanket. He wiggled his fingers and looked astonished. He reached up and touched his shoulder lightly.

“I've put it back into socket. It should be feeling better.”

“T-thank you, Cas...”

“It's nothing, please.” Castiel watched Sam sadly. “You must take care. Your ribs are broken, as is your cheekbone. Your thighbone is bruised. I... your brother has bound my powers. Know that I would heal you, if I could. I'm sorry that you're feeling this. It's my fault – I attacked De... your brother, in an attempt to get him away from you. And this is his punishment to me, to watch you suffer. I'm so sorry.”

Sam swallowed, and his eyes filled with tears. He smiled, just the barest twitch of his lips. His voice was raspy, a whisper. “I knew you cared. I knew he lied.”

Castiel's heart broke. “Of course, of course I care.” Castiel touched Sam's forearm, and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Please, do you think you could stomach some water, maybe a little food?”

Sam nodded. Castiel moved to the table, brushed the browned apple bits out of the bowl, and rinsed it in the bathroom. He filled it halfway with water, and returned to the room to find Sam trying to sit up, wincing horribly.

Castiel rushed to his side, and helped him up. Sam looked acutely uncomfortable. “I... I think Sir... d-damaged me.” He lowered himself back down, taking the pressure off his butt, propped up on his uninjured shoulder.

Castiel nodded. “You... were bleeding. Something was torn. We should, when you are able, ensure that it is clean, to the best of our abilities.”

Sam shivered slightly and nodded. “Not right this second, please.”

“Of course.” Castiel held the bowl for Sam, and tipped it so that he could drink slowly.

Sam was able to eat a bit of protein bar, after the water. He seemed very tired, and Castiel encouraged him to sleep. Sam laid back down, and was out nearly the moment his head hit the sleeping pad. 

Castiel fumed in the silence, cross-legged on the floor beside Sam, listening to Sam's shallow breathing. _This is wrong, this is so wrong. Dean must be stopped._

 

*

 

After several hours, Sam woke. He wasn't entirely sure what had happened, but was happy to find Cas beside him, smiling a small, crooked smile down at him, a damp cloth in one hand.

“Good morning.” Cas's voice was like gravel.

“H-hi, Cas.” Sam tried to push himself upright, wincing at the pain in his backside, his ribs, his shoulder, his face... and what was wrong with his left eye? Sam reached a hand up to touch it, to have his hand gently intercepted by Cas.

“Your brother broke your cheekbone, and you have substantial swelling of your eye and face. Best not to touch. I've been trying to bring the swelling down, but with no ice, the cool water can only do so much.” Cas gestured helplessly with the cloth.

“Be careful if you try to sit... your brother... hurt you, when he used you last. You have some tearing, which we need to ensure is clean soon. Are you able to stand?” Castiel stood, and held out a hand to help Sam up.

Sam nodded, uncertainly, but managed to make his way to his feet. “I... I'm sorry, Cas, that you had to see that.” Sam's eyes darted nervously to Cas's, expecting judgment.

He couldn't have been more wrong; Cas looked nothing but sad. “I'm sorry you had to live it.”

Sam nodded slightly, “Th-thanks.” He laid his arm across Cas's shoulders, and together, they made their way to the bathroom.

Once they were finished, Cas helped Sam have a little more water and food. They were talking softly, Sam sitting on his multiply-folded sleeping mat, when Dean came in.

 _Oh, God._ Terror seized Sam's heart, and he sat staring at the floor, his thoughts whiting out in panic.

Castiel's head turned to Sam, alarmed at the sudden shift of emotions.

“Hey, boys. How's it going?” Dean pulled the chair to in front of where Sam and Castiel sat.

Castiel's voice was tight with repressed rage, and concern about Sam. “Your brother is badly injured. He requires my assistance.”

“Isn't that what you've been doing, angel? Helping out baby brother?”

 _Oh God, oh God..._ Sam was terrified by Dean's mere presence.

Castiel frowned. “You know what I mean. Remove the collar. Allow me to heal him.”

Sam's head turned slightly towards Cas's voice. _Healing...?_

“No.” Dean's voice was light. “Let him suffer.”

Sam whimpered and hunched forward a little more, wrapping his arms around himself, careful of his injuries.

Cas said nothing at all.

“Hey, toy. Let's review a lesson from last night, shall we?”

Sam began to rock a little, back and forth. His voice was a whisper. “Yessir.” 

Castiel reached a hand to touch Sam's arm, to try to calm him. Sam flinched from the touch. Castiel withdrew slowly.

“Let's say I come in your room, after a night away. How do you greet me?”

“I... I... b-beg to serve, S-sir.” If Dean and Castiel hadn't both been supernatural beings, neither would have been able to hear him.

“Annnnnd.” Dean sounded amused. “What happened when I came in your room just now, after a night away?”

Sam whimpered. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry...”

“I understand, toy. You're hurt, and it slipped your mind.” Dean's voice was honeyed poison. Castiel felt a deep foreboding. “But being sick, or hurt, doesn't excuse you from your duties, do you understand?” Dean stood. “So we're going to do this again.” He threw a wink at Castiel, walked to the door, opened it, and stepped out, closing it.

Dean opened the door and walked back in. His smile was vicious. “Hey, boys. How's it going?”

Sam had pulled his legs up, in an attempt to appear smaller. He wrapped his arms around them tightly, and pressed his forehead to his knees. “P-please, Sir. Please u-use me.”

He heard Castiel moan softly, beside him.

“That sounds like an awesome idea, toy. Come over here.” Dean sat in the chair, his legs spread wide, undid his zipper and pulled out his already-hard cock.

Sam shifted to his hands and knees, holding the arm with the injured shoulder to his chest, and crawled slowly to Dean, stopping between his spread legs. Not once had his eyes left the floor.

“Now, take out your plug.”

Every muscle in Sam's body locked down – he wasn't wearing the plug.

“Your brother is injured, torn. We needed to treat his injury. The plug was not reinserted. He needs time to heal.” Castiel's voice was even, calm.

“S'that true, toy? You didn't put your plug in, as you know it's your _duty_ to do, every morning?” Dean's voice was deadly.

“Yessir.” Sam was hyperventilating again.

“Did I not _just_ explain that there's no excuse, not hurt, nor illness, that excuses from your duties?” Dean leaned menacingly towards his brother.

“Yessir...” Sam's voice broke, and he cowered.

Sam heard Dean spit. “Then get up here, and straddle me, facing your friend. And ride my cock.”

“P-please, Sir...”

 _“Now.”_ There was so much threat in that one word that Sam lurched to his feet.

Dean pulled his legs together, and pushed the base of his cock out with his thumb, so that it was vertical. And he waited, watching Sam.

Sam's thoughts were blanked by fear. He knew, now, how a deer in the headlights felt. Except that he had to force himself to move. He turned, straddling Dean's lap, his injured arm still against his chest, his uninjured hand lightly touching Dean's knee for balance.

“Get on with it, then.” One of Dean's hands touched Sam's hip.

Sam tried to brace himself for pain, he honestly did, he just wasn't expecting so _much_ of it. He choked off his scream as Dean breached him, and tried to pull away from his brother.

Dean, on the other hand, groaned deeply, clamped his hands on Sam's hips, and yanked Sam down onto him. Sam really did scream, then.

Dean did the work for him, as Sam sobbed with his eyes closed, slamming Sam up and down on his cock, his hands bruising Sam's hips. Sam felt the hot liquid seeping from him around his brother's cock. The friction seemed to ease slightly. The pain did not.

“P-please, S-sir...” Sam choked out between sobs. He feebly tried to push himself off his brother, against Dean's iron grip.

Dean groaned. “Wanna feel you come on my cock, baby boy.”

Sam felt the arousal rise, jagged spikes through his pain. He hardened. _No, no no no no..._ Sam thought he would vomit, and felt Dean push the need away. Sam sobbed, flushing red. _Please, Cas, look away..._ Sam peered through watering eyes, to see Cas with his head bowed, his eyes closed.

“Come, _toy_.” The derision in Dean's voice was incredible. The orgasm surged through Sam as he came untouched, splattering across the floor. Dean yanked Sam down one final time and spilled inside him.

There was a long moment, before Dean shoved Sam off of him. Sam fell, crashing to his knees in the puddle of his own making, feeling dazed.

“Toy.” Sam turned towards Dean, his eyes lowered.

“Thank you, S-sir, for using me. Th-thank you for the orgasm.” Sam's voice sounded wooden, even to himself.

“Look at the mess you made.” Sam's eyes lifted, and he saw Dean gesturing towards his crotch. Dean's softening cock was slicked with blood and come, and blood was pooled against the base, seeping into Dean's jeans.

Sam stared, uncomprehendingly.

“Well, _clean it up_.” Dean sounded exasperated, as though this should have been obvious.

Sam turned to Castiel, who held out the damp cloth. Sam reached for it. Dean slapped his arm down with his powers.

“With your mouth, baby boy.”

Sam turned back to Dean, his eyes downcast again. He moved in, and took Dean's now-softened cock into his mouth, tasting come and his own blood. Sam gagged, but Dean prevented him from retching.

“Let's see if you can get all the blood, while keeping my cock in your mouth, toy.” Sam extended his tongue, licking at his own blood around Dean's shaft in his mouth. The coppery flavour was overwhelming, emetic, but Dean had a lock on Sam's urge to vomit. Sam licked and licked, trying to get it all from his brother's skin. He was pretty sure he had it, but Dean made no indication for him to stop, so he tried to lick the blood from his brother's jeans.

“Enough.” Sam pulled back immediately, feeling overwhelmingly ill. He could feel blood and come seeping from himself.

“Maybe,” Dean's voice was soft. “If you had prepared yourself this morning, like you were _supposed_ to, that wouldn't have hurt so much. Don't you agree?”

“Yessir.” Sam whispered.

“And I've gotten you a bigger plug, so that no matter how hard I am on you, you won't tear again.” Dean reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small tube of ointment. He threw it at Sam. It bounced off Sam's chest, and onto the floor. Sam reached trembling fingers to pick it up – some sort of anaesthetic antibiotic.

“Th-thank you, Sir.”

“You apply that, and I'll give you two days without the plug, to heal.” 

“Thank you, Sir.”

“You're welcome, toy.” Dean stood, touched Sam's head lightly, and turned to leave.

“Dean!” Castiel shouted.

Dean ignored him, and left.


	17. Chapter 17

Sam crunched over and vomited violently the moment Dean had left. He was still dry-heaving as Castiel rushed over. 

Sam felt Cas's gentle touch on his back, and began to sob again. Cas's hand slid up his back, to lightly grasp the back of his neck. He heard Cas sigh.

“I'm so sorry that your brother is doing this to you. You've done nothing to deserve this. If I hadn't attacked him...”

Sam choked out a weak laugh. “H-he'd have found another excuse.” Sam wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “If... if it's not my fault, it isn't yours either, Cas. Could... could you help me to the bathroom, please?”

Castiel helped Sam up. He held Sam steady as he rinsed his mouth, and brushed his teeth. He waited just outside the shower, as Sam slowly cleaned himself. Sam sat gingerly in the tub, and set it to fill with warm water.

Sam pulled the shower curtain back a little to find Castiel leaned against the vanity, and gave him a tentative smile. Castiel smiled back, still with so much sadness in his eyes.

Sam shivered, despite the warm water. “C-Cas... could... could you just... keep an eye on me? From here, in the bathroom... please?” Sam touched his throat lightly, and then clamped a hand over his mouth as he burst into tears.

Castiel dropped to his knees beside the tub, and touched Sam's shoulder. “What... what is it?”

“S-sir... he... he almost drowned me, the last... the last time I tried to take a bath.” Sam whimpered, covering his face. “I... I just needed a minute, away, with no pain and no... humiliation and no... no _Sir..._ ”

Cas reached right around him, water and all, and hugged Sam tight. He pressed a kiss to the top of Sam's wet head. “Of course. Of course I will. I may not be able to keep you safe, or stop him from hurting you, but I will warn you, I promise, the moment that door opens.” Cas let him go, and turned, sitting with his back to the tub, watching the door.

Sam reached and grasped Cas's hand, holding it tight as he reclined into the water.

Sam was so grateful for Cas's presence, his caring, and his concern for him. Sam clutched Cas's hand, and allowed himself to relax a little, for the first time in a long time.

 

*

 

Castiel helped Sam from the bath, noting with relief that he had visibly relaxed. He helped to dry Sam, and helped, despite Sam's stammering, blushing opposition, to apply the ointment.

As the ointment begin to work, and the pain faded a little, Sam began to relax further. Castiel gave him a reassuring smile, and led him carefully back to the cell, mindful of his ribs and shoulder, re-folding the sleeping mat for Sam to sit on. He tucked Sam's blankets around his shoulders, cocooning him in them.

Castiel could tell that Sam was deeply traumatized by what had happened, but he was trying his best to put on a brave face. Sam gave him a shy smile of thanks. He spent most of his time with his eyes on the floor, though, picking at the bowl of granola Castiel had brought him, and sipping water from the bottle. Castiel watched him with concern.

Castiel also watched with concern Sam's dwindling food supplies. Maybe a cup of granola left in the bag, a couple of protein bars, and two shrivelled apples. If Dean didn't return with food soon...

The door banged open.

 _Speak of the Devil, and he doth appear._ Castiel's eyes followed Dean into the room. He felt waves of terror coming from Sam, and reached to take his hand. Sam clutched to it as if it were a lifeline.

“Don't bother offering, toy, I'm not interested.” Dean sat in the chair, and watched the two men. 

Castiel spoke up. “Sa... your toy will need more supplies soon. His food is nearly exhausted.” He tried very hard to keep his voice calm and level, gesturing towards the table. “I trust you will address this.”

Dean glanced at the table, and then back at the two men. He flashed Castiel a grin; Sam's eyes were on the floor, his hand trembling within Castiel's.

“I dunno. What use is a disobedient toy? He doesn't even _listen_.” Sam flinched. “Well, I suppose hearing him scream and wail on my cock is okay.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “It really is kind of fun, now that I think about it.” Sam whimpered and cowered.

Castiel's voice turned deadly. “Do you have _any idea_ of how afraid of you he is? He can barely function, barely think when you're in the room. You've reduced him to a handful of memorized responses. He's a _human being_ , Dean.”

Castiel felt Sam's fingers tighten at Dean's name, for a few moments, before releasing and continuing to tremble.

Dean blinked. “He _was_ a human being. He was a hunter, one of the best. Brilliant, smartest person I ever met. And now he's _this_.” Dean nodded at Sam's hunched form, hidden within his blankets. “And you know, it took me a lot of effort, to get him this far gone. To break him this badly. And you don't think that I _know_ that he's scared?” Dean closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply. “I can smell his fear. I can _taste_ it. And let me tell you, it's fucking delicious.”

Dean paused. “Come here, toy.” Sam froze, he even stopped breathing, before removing his blankets. He unclenched his hand from Castiel's, and crawled to his brother. He stopped a few feet away.

“Kneel. Between my legs. You know this drill.” Dean sounded gently chiding. Sam moved hesitantly between Dean's legs, and knelt up, back straight, head and eyes on the floor. “Look at me.” Sam lifted his head and eyes just enough to see Dean's face. Castiel could see Sam's chest rising and falling with short, panicked breaths.

Dean let his eyes flicker to black, and smiled his vicious smile.

Castiel felt Sam's heart rate and panic spike.

Dean glanced at Castiel, his eyes flickering back to green. “You think I didn't feel that? You're not the only supernatural being in this bunker, _angel_.” Dean sneered. “I have more powers than you do right now, Cas. More powers than you can imagine.” Dean glanced at Sam, and Castiel felt a sort of strange, artificial calm settle over Sam's emotions.

Sam slumped a little, and his heart rate slowed. His eyes unfocused.

Dean snapped his fingers, and the blanket of calm evaporated. Sam gasped as the fear enveloped him again.

Dean snapped his fingers again, and Castiel heard Sam whimper. Sam's arms came up slightly, his fingers spread wide. He whimpered again. “P-please...” Barely a whisper, from Sam's lips. “P-please... S-sir?”

“And now, dear Sammy's trapped in the silence and the dark. Blinded and deafened. Should I leave him like that, Cas?”

Castiel glared. “Dean, leave him alone. You've put him through enough.”

“All right.” Dean rolled his eyes. He snapped his fingers for the third time, and Sam slumped to the side and back, like a puppet with its strings cut. The eye that wasn't swollen shut was wide and empty.

Castiel could see Sam's chest rising with his breaths, but felt absolutely nothing else coming from him. “What... what did you do, Dean?”

Dean chuckled. “Put Sammy down for a nap. He looked like he needed one.”

Castiel glanced at Sam's eyes. “That... is not sleep. He's not feeling, he's not dreaming. Fix him.”

“Who made you the boss of me, angel?” Dean sneered.

“Fix him!” Castiel's voice raised for the first time.

Dean raised his hands, as if in surrender, and fell back in his chair, laughing. “Wow, I guess you told me! Guess I'd better snap to it, huh?” Dean stared at Castiel, all trace of laughter gone. He leaned forward in his chair and glanced at his brother.

“Why should I? He's less trouble like this. I can just keep him like this until I want to use him. Here, here, watch this...” Dean concentrated on Sam.

Sam's hand came up, and flipped Castiel the bird. Dean laughed and let Sam's arm drop.

 _“Dean.”_ Castiel's voice was earnest. “Sam is human. He needs to eat, to drink. To sleep. To feel comforted and whole, safe and secure. You _must_ provide these necessities!”

Dean stood. “Cas, I don't think you really get it. Sam is gonna get whatever I give him, and take it, happily. Whether that's food, or a fucking, or a beating, or death. He'll take it, and then he'll thank me for it, because he knows how shit works here. He knows his rules. And if he can manage to follow them, I'll keep him around a little longer.”

Dean turned and left the room.

Castiel hurried to Sam, who was still in some sort of... fugue state. Castiel brushed Sam's hair out of his eyes. There was nothing, just blankness from Sam's consciousness.

Castiel half-carried Sam back to the corner and laid him on his sleeping pad, covering him with blankets. He pillowed Sam's head on his lap, and murmured to him, hoping for a response.

“Sam. Sam, I'm so sorry. I'm trying, Sam, I pray to my sisters and brothers every day. To my Father, for someone, anyone, to help us.” Castiel rested a hand on Sam's forehead. He dashed tears from his eyes with the other. “The warding, Sam, on this place, is so profound... I... I can't find a weakness, an opening. Sam. Sam? Can you hear me?”

There was nothing, no thought, no memory, no movement or feelings from Sam. Just empty, glassy hazel eyes.

Castiel bowed his head and cried, his tears falling on Sam's pale cheek.

 

*

 

Sam woke with a start, lurching upwards in terror. “S-sir...” He blinked, but the room remained pitch black. The absolute darkness of his first days in his cell. Sam's heart skipped a beat. “S-sir?”

Sam felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, far more gentle than Sir had ever been with him.

“ _Cas._ ” Sam breathed. Sam turned to where he thought Cas might be sitting, reached towards him.

Cas's hands guided Sam's to his shoulders. He seemed to have no trouble seeing in the dark. _Magic angel eyes, maybe?_

Sam wondered why Cas hadn't greeted him or spoken. “Are... are you gagged, Cas? Did Sir gag you?”

One of Cas's hands moved Sam's to cover Cas's mouth gently. Sam could feel Cas's lips moving, feel the rumble of his voice, but heard... nothing. Fear choked him.

“C-Cas, am I.. deaf?” Cas moved Sam's hand to his cheek, and he felt Cas nod.

“And... and the lights aren't out, are they?” Sam felt Cas shake his head, no. Sam whimpered. He pulled himself closer to Cas.

He felt Cas's arms wrap around him, and pull him into his lap. Sam was too big for this, really, but he buried his face into the side of Cas's neck. Sam didn't even care that the pressure hurt his swollen face. “S-sir? Is Sir here?” He felt Cas's emphatic head-shake, no.

“P-please, say something, Cas.” Sam's voice was a crippled whisper. “I... I can feel it, when you talk. Please.” Sam felt the intermittent rumble of Cas's speech, and felt his own tears wet Cas's shirt.

He hoped Cas didn't mind.

 

*

 

Sam cried for a very long time, curled up tight against Castiel.

Castiel recounted the creation of the universe, and the names of every one of the heavenly host. If Sam needed him to talk, he would, continuously. He told the story of the evolution of the earth, his amazement at the dinosaurs, and the evolution of mankind. 

He had gotten up to what the humans called _Homo erectus_ , when he felt Sam finally slip into exhausted sleep against his shoulder. Castiel fell silent, and allowed Sam to rest, praying he would sleep for some time. Praying his sight and hearing would be returned before he woke.

 _Healthful, restful sleep – not that horrific disconnect that Dean forced upon him._ Castiel estimated Sam had lain stricken for several hours, before waking frightened, deaf and blinded. Castiel wasn't sure that Sam was even aware that there had been a time lapse there. He held tight to Sam, murmuring softly when he felt Sam shift restlessly. His words seemed to lull Sam back into sleep.

Castiel leaned his head back against the wall. He closed his eyes, blocking his view of Sam's cell, and focused instead on the man in his arms. He was frightened, even in his dreams.

It didn't matter that he knew Sam couldn't hear him. “It's okay, Sam. It's okay. We'll get out of this. Somehow.”

 

*

 

When Sam woke, everything was still black, and deathly quiet. He was still in Cas's arms. His cheeks were crusted with dried tears, and his mouth was dry. He felt Cas give him a gentle squeeze, and felt his head shake, no. Sir wasn't here.

“B-bathroom, could you...?” He shifted off Cas's lap, his hand still on Cas's arm. Cas helped Sam to stand, and walked backwards, holding Sam's upper arms, guiding Sam to the bathroom. Sam was able to manage by himself, drinking some water, scrubbing his face, brushing his teeth, and using the facilities. He groped for the doorway once he was done, feeling Cas's hands reaching out for his own. Cas pressed the small tube of ointment into Sam's hand, and Sam flushed, but nodded, returning to the doorway after he had applied it and washed his hands.

Cas guided him to sit back down on his folded mat, and Sam felt Castiel's knees against his own. A bowl was placed into Sam's hand. He reached into it with the other – it was the granola. He knew there wasn't much left, and wondered if he should start rationing it.

“If... if Sir doesn't bring more food, maybe I should wait.” He tried to offer Cas the bowl. It was gently pushed back towards him. His hand was placed on Cas's cheek, and Cas shook his head, no. He felt Cas's fingertips, gentle against his lips.

“O-okay, I'll eat some.” He felt Cas nod, before returning his hand to the bowl, eating slowly. He ate until he started to feel a little unwell, the granola filling his shrunken stomach. He pushed the bowl back towards Castiel, who took it from him. Castiel moved Sam's hand, and Sam felt the water bottle against his fingertips. Sam drank. 

“Th-thank...” Castiel's finger was pressed firmly against Sam's lips, hushing him. _Oh, right._ Sam smiled a little, wry smile. Cas moved his hand to Cas's mouth, letting Sam feel Cas's own smile in return.

There was a sudden shift in air pressure. Sam knew the door had opened, and his heart jumped into his throat.

 

*

 

“How's poor little Sammy doing?” Dean carried a plastic bag into Sam's cell, seeing the two men seated face to face, Sam slowly withdrawing a hand from Castiel's mouth. Castiel grasped Sam's hand and squeezed it. 

“He's frightened, Dean, all the time. As you would be, if your sight and hearing were taken from you.”

“Back away from him, angel.” Dean dropped the bag onto the table.

Castiel gave Sam's hand one final squeeze, before deliberately letting it go. He moved a few feet away, Sam's hand reaching for him.

Dean's power slapped Sam's hand down, and Sam gasped and flinched, pulling into himself. He pulled his knees up under his chin, and pressed his face against them. Castiel thought it was some sort of self-comfort position for him.

“Look. Food for the toy.” Dean took out another large bag of granola, and another box of protein bars. Several oranges, and a few bananas. “Does it meet your approval, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean, thank you.” Castiel's voice was stiff. After glancing at the food, he returned his gaze to Sam.

“And one more thing, for the toy.” Castiel's eyes cut back to Dean, who was holding a large butt plug, much larger than Sam's previous.

“Sam is still injured, still torn. He will not be able to take that.”

“Which is why you're going to heal him up, now, Cas. So that I can go ahead and put him over my lap, loosen him up, shoot his ass full of lube and stuff this inside him.” Dean grinned, putting the plug on the table and moving to Castiel, loosening his collar.

 

*

 

Sam could only assume that Sir and Cas were talking, because after the slap, no one touched him.

A few moments passed, and Sam felt Cas's gentle touch on his leg, and the blessed warmth of Cas's healing powers. Sam sighed softly, felt his ribs and cheekbone mend, the swelling reducing. Felt the aching bruise on his thigh fade, and the residual pain from the dislocated shoulder vanish. Even the slight lingering pain from his rump faded.

“Th-thank you for healing me, Cas. Thank you, Sir, for allowing Cas to heal me.” 

Sam felt a cruel hand grip his upper arm, yanking him to his feet and pulling him across the room. Sam stumbled to his knees, weak and disoriented. Sir's hand hauled him back up to his feet. Sam felt himself manhandled over... Sir's lap?? His head was low, his palms against the floor, and his ass was definitely over Sir's lap. His toes touched the ground. Sam flushed with humiliation.

Sam felt one of Sir's hands on his lower back, holding him down, and the other on his ass. _Is this... a spanking? He's flayed the skin from me, and now he wants to_ spank _me??_ Sam had to shove down the hysteria bubbling up within him.

Sir's fingers glanced across Sam's hole, touching softly, and Sam froze. _... this isn't a spanking._

There was a soft tap against Sam's bottom – gentle admonishment for the tightening of his muscles. Sam tried to force his body to relax.

Sir's fingers returned, slick with lube. Sam clenched his teeth as one, and then two, and then three pushed into him, deliberately avoiding his prostate. Sam felt Sir slip a fourth one in, and Sam groaned, tensing against the intrusion. 

The fingers were ripped out, and a hand slammed across his ass cheek. Sam could feel the hand-shaped welt rising. The fingers returned, slicked cold with more lube. Four of them, forcing their way in.

 _Relax, relax or tear._ Sam tried his hardest to accept the intrusion, and the fingers slid a little more easily. Sam gasped when they were suddenly removed. Sam felt something narrow, plastic, before cold lube was injected into his channel. Sam flushed darker.

He felt something hard, rubber, nudge at his hole. _Just a plug. Relax._ Sam took a deep breath.

A moment later, Sam shuddered. _No, wait, no no no no no!_ That was _not_ his plug! _Oh, God, the bigger one Sir promised..._ The new plug seemed to stretch him more than he thought possible, more than Sir's fingers, before Sir pressed the widest part past Sam's rim, and it popped into place. Sam winced – the thing was huge.

“... don't want your tearing again, do we, toy?” Sam's hearing popped back into existence while Dean was mid-sentence.

“N-no, Sir.” Sam heard Castiel gasp from across the room.

“I bet I could fist you, if I wanted, once you got used to this plug.” Dean patted Sam's ass. “Would you like that, toy? My fist up your ass? It'd fill you up so good...”

Sam choked the words out. “Y-yes, Sir.”

“Yeah, I thought you would. Little cock-hungry slut, you are. Always wanting your holes filled, and you beg so pretty. Well, this'll keep you full. For now.” Dean tapped the base of Sam's plug, and then gave him a nudge to urge Sam off his lap.

Sam climbed off, stiff and awkward with the new plug, and knelt – he was pretty sure he was somewhere near where Dean wanted him to be.

“That positioning wasn't too bad, considering you're blind.” Sam felt Dean's hand on the top of his head, turning him a little, and urging him forward. Dean's hand let go, and Sam heard Dean's belt buckle clink. There was a soft sound of a zipper.

“Put your hands behind your back, and keep them there. And show me how grateful you are for your new plug.” Sam clenched his left hand around his right wrist behind his back, and leaned his head in. Dean guided his brother to his cock with a hand in his hair.

It was another brutal throatfucking for Sam, his head in Dean's tight grip. All he could do was try to breathe and pray it would be over soon. His nails dug into the skin of his wrist. Dean spilled so deep into Sam's throat that he didn't even taste it. _Small blessings_ , Sam thought, as his throat ached and burned.

“Th-thank you, Sir, for using me.” It seemed to Sam that the words got a little easier to say, every time. _Or maybe I'm a little more broken, every time._

He felt his brother stand near him. “Let's go, angel.”

Sam's panic flared. “C-Cas? N-no...”

“Hush. You've had your little bonding time. Cas has a cell of his own to return to.”

“It's okay, Sam, you'll be okay... just...” Cas's low voice was cut off abruptly.

“Cas?? Cas!” 

Sam heard the jingle of chains, and the slam of the door. He was alone, he knew it.

Sam stayed kneeling where Dean had put him, his heart hammering in his chest. 

_Cas._


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All good things come to an end. So now - what do I write?
> 
> If you've enjoyed this, and there's something you might like to see written, drop me an email at ossewokr@hotmail.com - be sure to title it with, I dunno, Story Request? I can't guarantee I'll write it, but I'll sure try.
> 
> Thank so much to my readers who've given me encouragement, and stuck with me to the end. Y'all are awesome. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Castiel railed at Dean on his way back to his own cell. “You would leave him like that?? Blinded?” 

Dean had a death grip on the back of Castiel's neck, over his collar. “Hey, at least I gave him his hearing back. One out of two ain't bad, isn't that how that song goes?” Dean hummed tunelessly, shoving Castiel along the hallways.

Castiel tried to wrench himself out of Dean's grip. Dean frowned, and slammed Castiel face-first against the wall. Castiel's eyes found Dean's – they had flickered to black.

“Remember what happened, Cas, the last time you fought? How hurt poor Sammy was? Keep it up, feathers, and the next time, you won't even get to be there for him.”

Castiel stilled, and nodded. Dean led him, unresisting, back to his cell.

 

*

 

 _It's just darkness. Just darkness. It isn't anything to be afraid of._ Sam tried to slow his breathing. _Sir isn't even here, you can handle a little darkness._

Sam climbed to his feet, wincing at the large plug, his hands out before him, and walked forward, clipping his shin on the chair, which clattered. _Ow._ He took a tentative turn to the left, walking forward slowly, and bumped the table with his thighs. His hands came down to the table's surface, and his right touched something plastic.

 _A... a bag..._ Sam managed to braille it out. He figured that meant that Sir had brought something...

Sam groped against the table. He found the heavy bag of granola and the box of protein bars, and he whimpered in relief. _At least I won't be starving for the next couple of days._ Then, Sam's fingertips brushed the dimpled skin of one of the oranges. Sam gasped.

 _Vitamin C, thank God._ He stopped his explorations on the spot, peeling and eating an orange, doing his best to get the peels into the empty plastic bag. The flavour was heavenly.

Afterwards, he continued his explorations, finding five more oranges, and three bananas. _Potassium._ Sam ate one of those, too, careful with the peel. Sam couldn't find anything else new on the table.

He snorted to himself. _No, the only other new thing is up my ass._

Sam walked himself carefully along the wall, back to the corner with his sleeping pad. He knelt on it, and groped in the darkness. He found the bowl Cas had filled with granola, and eventually found the water bottle. Sam drank deeply.

Sam never thought that he'd be able to face empty days of boredom with nothing to do, no Internet, nothing to read, even. Now, he knew the boredom was infinitely preferable to the times Sir was here.

Sam shivered, pulling the blankets tight around him. They weren't nearly as comforting as Cas's arms. Sam wondered idly what Cas had talked about, as Sam had clung to him. He'd have to ask him sometime.

 _If Sir ever lets you see him again,_ piped up the nasty voice in his head.

 _He will. I'll be good, and he will. He has to._ Sam's throat tightened, and he blinked away tears.

Sam curled up in his corner and tried to sleep.

 

*

 

“Hello, Squirrel.” Crowley stood at the door of the bunker, smiling at Dean.

“What do you want, Crowley?” Dean's voice was low.

“Can't I just stop by to visit an old friend? And where's Moose? He's been off the radar for some time now.” Crowley glanced at the broken devil's trap on the floor, and back up at Dean. “Going to invite me in? We need to talk.” A bottle of scotch appeared in his hand, and Crowley smiled.

“Fine.” Dean turned and led the way down the stairs.

He didn't see Crowley's fingers brush against the wall, or catch his murmured words.

 

*

 

Castiel was praying, feeling his efforts futile, when suddenly a gap opened in the warding. He had no idea how, but he poured out his desperation to his brothers and sisters, and heard their answering calls.

_Hold on, Sam._

 

*

 

Sam heard Sir's howl of rage shake the walls of the bunker, and cowered.

 

*

 

Sam shook in the darkness, not understanding what was going on.

“Hey. Hey, bro.” Sam heard a voice near him. Not Sir, and not Cas... Sam tried to recoil from the new threat.

“Hey, whoah! It's all good, bro, I'm just gonna remove this demon taint, okay? Chill.” Gentle fingers touched his forehead. His vision returned, and his knowledge of himself and his brother. _Sam. Dean. Winchester._

Sam glanced up. The man who had spoken, who had released Dean's horrible controls, was... 

_“Gabe??”_ Sam's voice was raspy, and his confusion was complete. “What... what are you _doing_ here? I thought... I thought you were dead!”

Gabriel winked and grinned at him. “Nah, bro. I'm all good. Heard the rescue call go out, so I popped in to take a look.”

“R-rescue call?” 

“Castiel. Man, you should've heard him. Every angel on the _planet_ heard him. Hollerin' that the Righteous Man needed to be stopped. They've got him, by the way.” 

“Si... Dean? He's been captured?” Sam sat up, keeping his blankets clutched around him.

“Little slow, there, bucko. I guess it's to be expected.” Gabriel glanced around the room with a look of distaste. “How long's he kept you here?”

“I... I don't know. Cas? Is Cas okay?” 

“Castiel is just fine. He's supervising the move of your brother upstairs. He'll be back soon. How about we get you some clothes?”

Gabe snapped his fingers, and the two of them were in Sam's bedroom, seated on the edge of the bed. Sam still had his blankets.

“Up... upstairs?”

“Your sweet big brother's sitting in Heaven's prison, until we can figure out what to do with him.” Gabe pulled a lollipop out of his pocket and offered it to Sam, who shook his head. He removed the wrapper, and popped it into his mouth, smiling at Sam around it.

“C-could I get a few minutes alone, please, Gabe?”

Gabriel gave Sam a very odd look. “Yeah, man, of course.” And he vanished.

Sam hobbled to his bathroom and locked the door, dropping his blankets and removing the hated plug. Sam shivered. He climbed into his shower, and turned the water up as hot as he could stand it. He stood with the water beating on his head, pouring down his face.

 _Free, I'm free. It's over._ It didn't seem real. Sam stayed in the shower for a long time, using his shampoo, his conditioner, his soap, his cloth. _Not Sir's, not Dean's, not any more._

When he emerged, a towel around his waist and one across his shoulders, Cas was sitting on the edge of his bed, smiling at him.

Sam rushed at Cas, knocking him flat onto the bed with a hug, crushing his face into Cas's neck. “How, _how??_ ” Sam couldn't even get any other words out.

Castiel's arms wrapped around him. “I honestly don't know, Sam. One moment the warding was intact, and the next it was broken. I have no idea who broke the warding.” 

Sam realized he was crushing Castiel to the bed, and sat back up, climbing off. “S-sorry, Cas. I didn't...”

“Never apologize to me again, Sam Winchester.” Castiel smiled up at Sam, and pulled him down to sit beside him, wrapping an arm around Sam.

“I... I got my name back.” Sam's voice was soft.

“Yes. I ran into Gabriel, and he told me he had found you and removed the curses Dean had left upon you.” Cas squeezed Sam against him.

Sam turned, and kissed Castiel's cheek, before ducking his head and blushing.

Castiel just smiled.

An angel Sam didn't know came into the room a little later, carrying a basket. Sam was still in his towels, snuggled up against Cas's side. “This was left outside the door to the complex, Sir.” He passed it to Cas.

There was a bottle of scotch nestled in the basket. Sam watched Castiel open the card. All it said was, “Thanks – C”.

 

*

 

Sam stayed in the bunker, in the days to follow. Castiel stayed with him. He heard little news from Heaven, only that Dean had been successfully imprisoned, and was making his guards miserable.

Together, they demon-proofed the bunker, hiding traps everywhere. Castiel didn't honestly think that they would be attacked, or that Dean had any possibility of breaking free, but if it brought Sam some comfort, then he was behind it 100%. 

Neither of the two returned to Sam's cell in the subbasement. Both were content to leave it alone for perpetuity. Castiel did sneak down there, once, while Sam was sleeping, to remove the perishables, but he quickly returned to Sam's side. Sam had thrown an arm over his chest and nestled in.

Castiel was still deeply worried about the psychological damage Sam had suffered. He was still disinclined to talk, and would seldom raise his voice above a whisper. He typically refused to speak at all, to anyone who wasn't Castiel. He was tremendously jumpy, twitchy. Castiel had to be sure to announce himself when he entered a room that Sam was in. 

It took Sam some time to get used to wearing clothes again. Castiel brought him loose-fitting, soft fabrics, but Sam still tended to pluck nervously at the hems.

Sam also had the unfortunate habit of asking, excruciatingly politely, for anything he needed. Castiel still caught him using the phrasing from Dean's rules. He didn't point it out, or attempt to correct or scold Sam, he just smiled and let it go.

Sam showed very little initiative, instead relying on Castiel for ideas. Castiel suggested, gently, when he should eat, sleep, and bathe. He made suggestions for simple activities that he and Sam could enjoy together. They cooked, played chess, watched movies, and read books, side by side. 

Sam was recovering, but the progress was painfully slow.

One afternoon, Sam surprised him.

“C-Cas, could we maybe, go out?” Sam looked nervous.

“Of course, Sam. Where would you like to go? I can bring us straight there.” 

“There was a little park, one time, somewhere in Missouri when we were staying there, where I went when I needed to be alone. There was a little stream...”

Castiel touched Sam's forehead, pulled the location from Sam's mind, and they were there. Though it was warm and sunny, there were few people there. Castiel gave them gentle nudges to leave, lest they upset Sam, and they trickled away slowly. Castiel thought it was a very pleasant place, the leaves rustled on the trees, and there was a bench under one, overlooking the water.

Castiel felt Sam experiencing a complex set of emotions, of memories. Sam took his hand, and led him to sit on the bench. Sam sat with his legs spread wide, and his fingers traced a childish “S. W.” carved into one of the boards of the seat.

“D-Dean came out here once, he found me here.” Castiel glanced down, and spread his own legs, finding a slightly tidier “D. W.” etched into his portion of the bench. Sam glanced over and shivered, his hand moving subconsciously to his brand.

Castiel had offered to remove it, but Sam had been adamantly opposed, and so it stayed on his skin, faded to raised pinkness. Castiel kept his, as well.

“C-can I see him, Cas?” Sam swallowed hard. “Please?”

“He's not your brother, Sam.” Castiel tried to make his voice soft. “He... he's incredibly angry at being imprisoned. He attempts to kill his guards regularly. I cannot guarantee what his reaction to seeing you would be.”

“I... I still want to see him. Please.” Sam's eyes were pleading.

Castiel sighed, knowing it was a bad idea. “Yes, I'll bring you to see him.”

Sam's fingers tightened, where they were interlaced with Castiel's.

 

*

 

Sam woke, warm, curled against Castiel's side, on the morning they were to visit Dean in his prison. He glanced up, and Castiel was smiling down at him.

Sam clutched tightly at Cas, speaking into his side. “Don't ever go, Cas.”

Cas's hand pressed against the back of Sam's head. “I'll be here for as long as you need me, Sam.”

When Sam was ready, they left for the entrance to Heaven. The guard simply nodded at them, clearly expecting them. It was a long walk through the dim halls to Dean's cell. Sam kept Cas's hand clutched in his own. 

They rounded a final corner, and found Dean, hunched over on the bench that served as his bed, crying. He raised tearful eyes, brilliant emerald, to Sam's. Sam was frozen, stunned. “Sammy! Sammy, you have to get me out of here, please!” Dean stood, walking towards the bars.

Cas took a half-step, positioning himself between Sam and the bars, well out of reach of Dean. Sam's view was unimpeded, over Cas's shoulder.

“Sammy, please, _please_.” Dean whimpered, he actually _whimpered_ , his fingers curled around the bars.

“D-Dean? Is that you?” Sam's voice was faint.

“Y-yeah, Sammy, it's me. I don't know what happened, Sammy, or why I'm here. Please, dude, you gotta get me out.” Dean wiped a hand across his eyes.

Sam's mouth worked, but nothing came out. _Dean! His brother was... cured? How did this happen??_

Castiel's voice was a low growl. “Sam, this is a trick.”

Dean's entire visage changed, and he twisted his lip, staring at Castiel. “Dammit, Cas, I was having fun, stringing along my toy, there.” Dean's eyes flickered to black, and he smiled predatorily at Sam. “Hey, baby boy. Ya miss me?”

Sam backed up, panicking, until his back slammed into the wall across from Dean's cell.

“Still wearing your new plug? Or would you rather cry and scream on my cock, as I take you dry??”

Castiel spun to Sam, grasping his shoulders. “We're going. Now.”

Sam shook his head, his eyes fixed on Dean's black ones. “N-no, C-Cas.” Sam cleared his throat. Sam addressed his brother. “Y-you don't... you don't get to hurt me, any more. Ever again. You don't own me.”

“But I do, baby brother.” Dean's voice was a malevolent hiss. “I've owned you since Dad put you in my arms, when you were six months old. I've always owned you. I owned you when you begged to serve me, when you begged me to _fuck_ you. I will get out of here. And when I do, I'm coming for you, _toy._ ”

“Sam!!” Castiel's voice was firm, and Sam nodded towards him.

“I'm not your toy, Dean.” Sam's voice shook, as Cas led him away from Dean's cell.

 

*

 

Sam shook for several hours, after his meeting with Dean. They sat on a bench, in the park with the entrance to Heaven. Sam was pressed against Cas's side, Cas's lips against his temple.

“That was so brave, Sam. I'm so proud of you. You did amazingly.” Cas's voice was soft and rumbling.

“T-tell me, Cas, what you said to me, when D-Dean took my hearing. Please.”

Cas held Sam close, and began his story.

Sam closed his eyes and smiled.


End file.
